Testimony
by Persnickety
Summary: Harry returns to complete his Seventh Year at Hogwarts during the chaos of the Death Eater trials. Adjusting to a normal life proves impossible for him, though, as an old obsession takes over. WIP. (Violence, Slash (H/D), Angst. Era: Post-War)
1. Chapter 1

"Potter!" her voice blew softly past him on the breeze.

He ignored it. He wasn't listening. He was watching. The world was about to click back into order. He needed to see it.

He'd been waiting for this for months. The summer had been hot and dry. With little wind and little rain, the architects had been able to rebuild Hogwarts in excellent time.

Harry had committed himself to assisting with any job he could to undo the damage that had been done there. But each fallen block, each bloodstained tile, each pile of rubble served as a reminder of just how deeply indebted he was to everyone who had fought, and especially to those who'd died, to defend these grounds.

He'd begun the summer hoping for a small sense of relief as the world visibly returned to its former order, but his nights had remained sleepless and his days long and arduous. Eventually, he'd learned to keep his focus strictly bound to each task assigned to him. If he did that, then the unplanned vastness of his own future gaping wide before him wasn't quite so troubling. The burning ache of guilt and regret that haunted him was dulled.

"Harry, are you there?"

Regardless of his efforts to remain remote, each funeral had been devastating. Grief bound up in his throat at each one, cutting off his voice and squeezing the air from his chest. Somehow he'd shoved down the crushing sense of loss and the putrid remorse roiling in his stomach at every one of them. He'd ignored the sensation that the floor had vanished beneath his feet and he'd remained strong for each grieving family.

Holding Ginny as she sobbed at Fred's wake, he'd forced himself to remain detached, as absent as possible, until he was finally able to leave. Any notion that he was paying Fred tremendous disrespect by doing so was simply added to the colossal weight of the shame he already bore. He'd hardly noticed.

"Where have you gotten to?"

But as new wings were raised and old portraits retuned to their rightful places in the castle, Harry knew he was finally doing something to put the world right again. Focusing of the physical task of rebuilding Hogwarts had been cathartic, but it was also practically finished.

The roof of the Astronomy Tower floated delicately into place above him, the last piece of this enormous puzzle. Nearly there now.

"Hello, Head Mistress," he called out.

Professor McGonagall had been one of the only people at Hogwarts that was not a professional builder for the majority of the summer holiday, so he'd grown very used to her shouting for him on a regular basis.

"I've received an owl, Harry. I – "

"They're raising the last piece," he interrupted. "In a few seconds, it will all be back as it should be."

She made a sucking sound with her teeth and continued. "I've received word from the Ministry. They've located the missing Death Eaters and trials will begin shortly after the school year commences. It seems they will require you to testify at a number of them."

Harry wasn't surprised. He'd been expecting a summons to court any day now. "Who will I be testifying against?"

She scanned the parchment in her hand. "That's not yet been settled. It seems there will be dozes of trials, although so far they can only confirm you will be required for the trial of Vincent Crabbe Sr. on the fifteenth of this month."

Harry watched silently as the roof settled itself into place with a great groan and crunch. The seams filled in around it, and the tower looked for all the world as if it had stood there for centuries as it did now.

"Harry, you must understand that some of the trials that you will be required to participate in will involve some of the students arriving today. Unfortunately, that means that I will not be able to permit you to become involved in any extra-curricular activities until this is all settled. You must not be seen to have any ulterior motive to putting these young people in Azkaban, even a motive so petty as Quidditch."

She regarded him strangely as silence stretched between them. "Have you any questions, Mr. Potter?"

"I can't think of a thing."

"Well then, you'd best get your robes sorted out. The others will be arriving within the hour. I'd imagine you're quite looking forward to completing your Seventh Year."

It seemed more like moments. By the time he'd made it down from the dormitory to the Great Hall, the castle had exploded with life and sound. Pleasantly, no one seemed to bare him much attention and he was able to pass through the crowds as anonymously as he once had. Ginny burst up from her seat when she saw him approaching, and threw her arms around him when he reached their bench. She kissed him hard on the mouth and crushed his shoulders with her skinny arms.

She smells like flowers, he thought absently as he seated himself next to her. She always smells like flowers.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron said with a smile as he sat down across from him.

"So good to be back, isn't it?" Hermione asked no one in particular. "It's just so good to be back!"

Harry nodded his agreement and let Ginny grip his hand tightly in her own as he scanned the room. The tables were not nearly as crowded as they had been the last time he'd sat down to a welcome feast. The Slytherin population seemed to be down by half, and a row of sullen men in dark robes stood behind their table in a long line.

"Who are they?" Harry asked.

"Guards," Hermione explained in hushed tones. "I heard some were privately hired by families who think Slytherins will be facing prejudice this year, and others were appointed by the Ministry to keep watch of students facing trial."

"If they're facing trial, they should be in Azkaban waiting like the rest of them," Ron put in sourly.

"Everyone deserves an education, Ron. Especially if they're found innocent."

"Yeah," Ginny added. "If their family also happens to have bought and paid for the school's rebuilding they're welcome to come right on back as well."

"SILENCE!" McGonagall called from the front of the room. "Quiet down!"

The sorting ceremony that year was the most pleasant Harry could remember, if only because there were fewer than twenty First Years in attendance. The handful of students sorted into Slytherin received an icy smattering of applause, but the ceremony was generally as boisterous as usual.

As the last First Year settled down at the Ravenclaw table, McGonagall spoke briefly of the events of the past year. Harry did his best to not listen and scanned the Slytherin table and their battalion of guards. It was clear which families had hired their own. These men wore similarly dark robes, but in widely varying styles. However, those who had been appointed by the Ministry dressed in identical blacks with the sigil of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement embroidered on their chests. It appeared that there were only four of them, looming behind Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy with deep frowns creasing their faces. Astoria chatted blithely away to Malfoy, who didn't appear to be hearing a word she said.

He appeared somehow thinner and paler than he'd been the last time Harry had seen him, and utterly exhausted. As their eyes met, Malfoy lifted his chin in a curt nod and turned away, revealing a deep purple bruise staining his right cheek. It bled down past the sharp angle of his jaw onto his neck where it disappeared into his robes.

Harry was quite pleased to note this.

The Common Room was warm and filled with happy chatter that night. First years introduced themselves nervously to the portraits and futilely attempted a few of the simpler charms in their textbooks. The older students buzzed around them, discussing Quidditch and summer travels and other insignificant nonsense.

Harry barely saw them. He couldn't banish the image of Malfoy's bruised face from his mind. He had been expecting a quiet semester with close friends and the dullness of an average school year. Classes, assignments, the occasional criminal trial, mindless chatter, tedium, monotony, languor, ennui, all stretching out into oblivion. But that bruised face burned through the dreary days he'd been envisioning. His pulse felt quicker, as if he was waking up suddenly from a deep sleep. He needed to know what was going on, who had done what to whom and why? A familiar sense of purpose was creeping back into him and he welcomed it.

By the fire, he was sitting on the floor with his back against the huge armchair that Hermione and Ron were crammed into. Ginny rested against his chest, knitting a very lumpy scarf in Gryffindor colours.

"Mum says she'd really like me to learn to knit so we can work on projects together," She explained. "It's sweet, but not especially realistic."

Harry barely heard her. "Why is Malfoy back?" he asked abruptly. As far he knew, Malfoy had finished Seventh Year and should have left with the rest of the students their own age.

Ron shook his head moodily. "Apparently, he missed loads of school after the Easter Holiday and never finished the year. His mother begged McGonagall to let him back in. She says it wasn't his fault he was away. Bloody likely."

"What happened to his face?"

"He was born like that," Ginny answered. "But he got the bruise when he was allowed out to shop for school supplies. Apparently, he was swarmed outside of Flourish and Blotts."

"Allowed out?"

"Didn't you hear? He's been under house arrest all summer with his father. He's facing trial."

"I can't wait until that evil little bastard is put away," Ron commented. "Him and his creepy parents. The whole lot of them."

Hermione harrumphed. "We don't know how guilty he really is. He could easily have given Harry away last year when the Snatchers got us, but he pretended not to recognize him. He practically saved our lives."

"More like he was too dense to recognize him, Herm. You give him way too much credit. That git would have given Harry up in a heartbeat if he'd been sure it was him, right Harry?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Maybe I should ask him."

"You can't ask him!" Hermione hissed at them. "You might have to testify against him! We shouldn't even be talking about this, anyway. I'm going to bed. Ginny?"

"Good night," Ginny muttered, picking at a massive knot in her yarn. She made no move to follow her.

Classes began the next morning. Harry and Ginny chose seats at the back of the Potions class behind Ron and Hermione. She grabbed onto his hand beneath the table as she chatted with the others, and Harry silently watched the seats fill up around them. Slughorn smiled and quickly nodded at the group of them and returned to sorting through enormous stacks of parchment on his desk.

Harry was disappointed to notice that Malfoy was not among the Slytherins filling the other side of the room. He'd been planning to look for more bruises, and perhaps to do a bit of light eavesdropping.

Two huge Ministry guards stood blocking the storage room to their right, but neither of them appeared to be the ones he'd seen in the Great Hall the night before. This was disappointing. From what Harry could see of the door behind the pair of them, it was locked with heavy chains. Slughorn seemed to be putting forth a great deal of effort to ignore them.

Appearing to finally have his papers in order, the professor cleared his throat and smiled broadly at his students.

"So wonderful to see all of you," he began. "I'm sure you've all heard of the trials going on at the Ministry regarding everything that has happened. Because of this, I've not been permitted to give students access to potion ingredients until all students involved have been found innocent." He cleared his throat. "Or guilty, as the case may be.

"We will be focusing on remedies. Remedies to common ailments, and remedies to common poisons. I'm afraid this will mean a great deal of paper work for the lot of you, but I will be demonstrating the making of each potion as the semester progresses."

Ron sighed heavily and dropped his face to the table as stacks of paper floated down to each student.

"We will begin at the beginning, I should say. The Antidote to Common Poisons, on the first parchment in your… stacks there."

Holding up each item as they were named, he continued. "It requires Standard Ingredient, unicorn horn, mistletoe berries and – " He stopped suddenly. "For Merlin's… where have I left it?" He shoved his neatly stacked pages around the desk, obviously annoyed, searching for whatever he was missing.

"Harry, my boy," he half shouted a moment later. "I've forgotten the bezoars. Be a good chap and fetch some from the Head Mistress' office, would you?"

"Her office?" Harry asked. "Not the storage room right here?"

Slughorn eyed the enormous men blocking the entrance uneasily. "Yes. Yes, she'll be keeping the majority of the ingredients in there with her." He cleared his throat again. "It'll be easier this way. Off you go now."

Harry hopped from his seat and wiped his palm on a trouser leg. Ginny had been making his hand sweat unpleasantly by constantly clinging onto it all morning, and a brief break would be a relief.

He walked slowly through the corridors, keeping an eye out for anything amiss. He knew that the school was completely safe now, but he couldn't shake the lingering feeling that something was going on with Malfoy. That bruise had been deep. He'd looked nearly as drawn and miserable as he had in Sixth Year, and Harry's suspicions had been right on the nose about him then.

He was irritated to find that he'd made his way to McGonagall's office without any trouble, and even more so to find two more Ministry guards lurking outside her door.

"I need to – " he began, and one of them motioned brusquely for him to pass.

There were voices inside. He'd come in on the middle of a conversation, it seemed. Harry stopped just out of sight to enjoy some of that eavesdropping in that he'd been hoping for.

"I understand that you will likely miss a great deal of school once again," McGonagall was saying. "However, this year we will make an effort to ensure that you complete your classes. Private tutoring and make-up assignments will be provided. As long as you put forth the effort, you will complete your education here. But, rest assured, if you do not complete your work you will not be returning next year. This is your last chance, do you understand?"

"Yes," came the moody reply. Harry knew that voice. He could imagine the pale, sneering mouth forming the word.

In the mirror just beyond the entrance, Harry could see the back of Malfoy's head and the professor's irritated expression as she spoke to him. He also noted that two guards from the night before were milling about the office. One was quite squat with bristly brown hair and thick stubble coating his cheeks. The taller one was completely bald with a ruddy complexion and broken blood vessels staining his nose a bright ruby red.

"Excellent," McGonagall continued. "Mr. Potter, if you can see me in that mirror I can obviously see you as well. I assume you're here to collect the bezoars that Professor Slughorn has forgotten here?"

Harry felt a flush creep into his cheeks. He used to be much better at sneaking around, he was certain. "Yes, ma'am."

"Please take it. And please escort Mr. Malfoy back to Potions with you. I'm sure he's loathe to miss any more schooling than is absolutely necessary."

She handed a small box to Malfoy and waved them on their way. As Harry watched him he was disappointed to note that the bruise appeared lighter around the edges. Malfoy's swaggering walk seemed hitched, though, as if he was favouring an ankle, which was surprisingly reassuring. Harry realized that he was pleased to see a small wince of pain as they descended the stairs together, in silence. He watched the other boy's pale eyes dart irritably back toward the guards as they walked.

"Stop staring at me, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "You're staring at me."

Harry felt the flush creeping back up again. He was certain he'd been better at this sort of thing before as well. Gawping openly at a person of interest rarely solved a mystery.

"How was your summer?" he asked stupidly, immediately regretting it. There was no call for small talk.

Malfoy looked at him as if he was sure he'd misunderstood. "I was under house arrest with my parents. My summer was long and awful. Very, very long."

"Oh. Yeah."

"I heard you were here the whole time, which sounds even worse. But, I suppose you had plenty of funerals to break up the tedium."

"What was that?"

Harry felt his ire rising, that familiar building of tension in his neck trickling down his arms and making his hands ball into fists. He'd missed this feeling.

"I just mean you must have had a terrible summer. Also. We both did. Right?"

Harry remained silent and simply picked up his pace in response. Draco sped up as well, slightly hopping to keep the weight off of his right foot, but Harry was having none of it. He sped up again, nearly jogging now. Draco was keeping up with difficulty, grunting slightly with every other step.

"Come on," Draco panted. "I meant – "

"Oi, you," one of the guards barked. "Slow it down."

"No running in the halls, young man," the other laughed.

Harry snatched the box of bezoars from the other boy and sprinted away, feeling for the first time in months, completely content.


	2. Chapter 2

"Excellent work at the trial today," Malfoy drawled. "Great job."

"I was only a character witness," Harry reminded him. "Plus, I never even met the man."

Malfoy picked at the stitching of the ancient tartan chair he was slumped into and gnawed irritably at his lower lip. "Yes, well, that didn't stop you helping to send Crabbe's father away for the rest of his life."

Harry stared at McGonagall's desk in front of them. She was supposed to be giving them their make-up assignments to cover the work they'd be missing during the trials, but she was running unbelievably late.

"If they'd just checked his arm for a Dark Mark we wouldn't even have had to be there," Harry pointed out moodily.

"Yes, why didn't they think of that? We should send an owl right away! That'll blow these cases right open!" Draco laughed disdainfully, that familiar sneer curling his mouth in that familiar way. "Oh, wait. They disappeared when Voldemort died. You left them with no proof."

"Well, my apologies," Harry snapped. "What was I thinking?"

"And you with the reporters! _'Oh, I wouldn't call myself a saviour. Oh, no I'm just glad to be returning to a normal life.'_ What a load of bollocks." He pulled a long string from the patch he was destroying and flung it petulantly away.

"I was telling the truth, Malfoy," Harry shouted over Draco's derisive snort. "Some of us find that comes to us naturally!"

"Shut up, Potter. I've heard enough of your sanctimonious voice today."

"Boys!" McGonagall shouted, sweeping suddenly into her office. "Shut up the both of you, please. I do not have time for your quibbling. Someone has jinxed half of the Hufflepuff Third Years and they will not stop dancing in the Entrance Hall."

She collapsed into her chair and sighed. "It should be under control momentarily. Why are you here? Oh, yes, your assignments."

She handed each of them a small stack of parchment. "Go down to the Greenhouses and there you will find Dittany seeds. Plant them and make notes. Once they've grown, you will have completed your Herbology assignments. After that, you will need to distill them into Essence of Dittany. That will cover Potions. Your other assignments will be sorted out shortly."

The boys stared at her blankly. "Off you go!" she ordered, dismissing them with a wave. "Potter, I will see you later this evening at Hagrid's."

They walked silently through the corridors, the soft sounds of Malfoy biting at his own lip forming a secondary rhythm to their footfalls. Harry wondered if he'd always had this habit, or if it was something new born out of the stress of the trials. In either case, it had to be painful. Deciding it was a strange thing to ask someone about, Harry kept his mouth shut. They were through the Greenhouse entrance before either of them said a word.

"When they asked you about how Crabbe died, you didn't tell them I was with him," Malfoy said quietly. "When he summoned the Fiendfyre, I mean." He glanced at the shadows of his massive guards shuffling around the other side of the closed doors and continued to nibble unhappily away.

"Well, they didn't ask, did they? They just wanted to know if he had knowledge of dark magic. He did. That was it."

Harry could feel a thin sheen of sweat already breaking out on his forehead in the humidity and he wiped at it with a sleeve. He noted with some irritation that Malfoy's face appeared to be perfectly dry, although his cheeks had turned a nearly pleasant shade of pink.

Malfoy moved past to a long, empty table near the windows. Two large planters were set up next to each other with small pouches of seeds in front of each of them. Pouring some into one hand, he spoke without looking up. "Regardless. Thank you."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. It's appreciated."

Harry picked up his own seeds and began poking them down into the soil. "I wasn't protecting you; they didn't ask. You're not always on the forefront of my thoughts." He was aware of how historically untrue that statement actually was, but there was no need to admit to it.

Malfoy huffed, wiping his hands on the cleanest rag available to them. "So sorry. How presumptuous of me."

"Sod off. We're adults now, act like one!" Harry bellowed, shoving him childishly away.

Malfoy shoved back, forcing Harry elbows deep into a large muddy trough of mushrooms. Springing to his feet, Harry lunged at him, grabbing fistfuls of pristine Slytherin robes with his grubby hands and pushing with all of his weight. He felt fists wadding up the fabric around his own chest, and knuckles dug painfully into his flesh as they struggled against one another. The sound of his own heart pounding sent shivers down his back and he pushed harder. He felt alert and completely alive, and he focused on the exhilarating pain of the fingers twisting into his ribs as he fought on.

"What the fuck?" Malfoy shouted at him. "Let go!"

Harry moved forward again, suddenly desperate to breach the space between them. He needed this fight more than he needed to justify it, and he just needed to get a little bit closer. Inches away, Harry watched Malfoy's rosy cheeks turn a deep red until their hot breath mixed with the humid air thoroughly enough to fog up his glasses. He balled his fists more tightly in the fabric he was ruining and propelled himself blindly forward. Malfoy grunted as his back hit the wall and Harry braced himself for a punch to the abdomen. The scent of mint and oak and sweat filled his nostrils, and he wondered if that was Malfoy's soap, or if he just smelled like that all the time. He was struck by bewildering and irrational embarrassment. Was the sweat part actually coming from his own robes?

"Get off me!" Malfoy grunted, thrusting his knee into Harry's stomach and sending him flying back once again.

Instinctively Harry reached for his wand, pointing it as directly at the blurry face before him as possible while his vision slowly cleared. Malfoy calmly brushed his silvery hair back into place and clamped his hands on his hips. He was the picture of composure as he came back into focus.

"Go on, then," Harry urged. "Defend yourself!"

Malfoy stood perfectly still. A look of unease flickered across his face for half a second before a blank expression slid almost imperceptibly back into place.

"Potter, I'm facing trial," he said flatly.

"Yeah, and?" Harry realized he was still yelling.

"Well, obviously they're not going to let me roam about the castle armed with a wand. Don't you think they might have been concerned about me potentially cursing witnesses? This was a condition of my return to Hogwarts."

"No, I did not think of that," Harry was surprised to admit, still at quite a higher volume than was probably necessary.

Malfoy began wiping mud off of his chest and flicking it onto the floor. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't broadcast this fact."

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem." Harry's wand suddenly felt obscene in his hand and he hastily stowed it back in his pocket. He realized he'd been acting deranged, and stifled the urge to apologize. Glancing quickly at the silhouettes of the clearly disinterested guards waiting for them outside, he was relieved to see that they hadn't moved. He attempted to affect a convincing posture of relaxation and steadied his breathing.

Malfoy's pale eyes danced with amusement. "You've got a lot of rage in you, haven't you, Potter?"

"Sorry," was his lame reply.

"No, it's good. Now, let's get out of here and pretend this never happened."

Hagrid's welcome party was already well under way by the time Harry made it down to his cabin. Tables were strewn across the grass around the front door, and dozens of students and teachers milled about, enjoying what was likely one of the last warm evenings of the year.

Harry had forgotten this was even happening, but it was clear that he was the only one. He scanned the huge crowd around him for Ginny, feeling very much like he needed to see her immediately. He had the strangest sense that he'd been doing something she wouldn't approve of.

"Harry!" a familiar voice boomed through the commotion. "Yeh made it!"

Hagrid bounded over with his arms wide open and wrapped them around him in a crushing hug.

"This'll be our last year together, yeh know," Hagrid told him, taking a step back. "I can' believe you're all grown up."

Harry nodded uncomfortably. It seemed like his friend was already well into his cups.

"Yer a grown man," Hagrid added, his voice breaking. He dabbed at an eye with a sleeve. "I'm jus' so proud of you."

"Thanks," Harry replied feebly. As much as he was fond of Hagrid sober, a drunk Hagrid could be exhaustingly nostalgic.

"Listen ter me makin' a fuss," he continued, waving his hand in front of his mouth as if he'd burped. "You'll be lookin' fer Ginny. She's inside helpin' herself to some food. Go try some, I made it all myself!"

Harry nodded as if he would at least consider eating anything Hagrid had cooked and made his way into the cabin. Ginny was alone inside, sniffing nervously at the huge variety of mysterious dishes that, as of yet, remained completely untouched.

"No one's eaten anything," she complained once she'd noticed him. "If I don't take something, he'll know."

Harry felt relieved to be alone with her. It had occurred to him recently that he hadn't been paying a great deal of attention to her over the past few weeks, and he was certain this was the source of the bizarre guilt he was feeling. He rushed over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned in for a kiss automatically and then rested her head on his shoulder.

She smells like flowers, he thought to himself for the thousandth time. She always smells like flowers. Harry was dimly aware of the fact that he was not especially fond of this smell.

"Harry?" she asked, leaning away. "When was the last time you washed your robes?"

"I, er, think that's you," he told her, disengaging from the hug.

She laughed. "It most certainly is not." Drawing a line along his jaw with a warm finger, she smiled. "Let's go out and get some fresh air."

Harry let her lead him by the hand back out into crowd. He noted a small amount of mud on her back where his hands had been a moment before, but chose not to mention it.

Music was spilling out from somewhere unseen, and couples were dancing here and there. Laughter and happy chatter surrounded him as he was pulled to the edge of the crowd. Ginny sunk cross-legged onto a blanket and motioned for Harry for sit next to her.

"How did it go today?" she shouted.

"What?" Harry shouted back. They seemed to be sitting close to the spot the music was emanating from.

"At the trial. How did things go?"

"Oh! Fine. Fine. Justice was served, I guess."

From the corner of his eye, Harry spotted three figures moving through the darkness just beyond the light of Hagrid's party. Two large ones were moving quickly behind a lanky one that did not appear to want to be going wherever it was they were headed. He or she looked back often only to be prodded on by the others. They were closing in on the Forbidden Forest.

Ginny shouted something else at him.

"What?"

She repeated herself, but Harry couldn't make out the words. He squinted at the shapes in the distance.

"What are you staring at?" Ginny yelled into his ear.

"Over there! Do you see those people?" Harry's pulse was picking up the same way it had when he'd first seen the bruises on Malfoy's face. There was possibly something going on here, something to investigate, and he was intrigued.

"I'm going to go check it out," Harry explained at the top of his lungs. "You stay here."

He did not miss the frown on Ginny's face as he threw himself up off the blanket. If this turned out to be nothing, he would go back to apologize to her right away. But, his gut told him something was about to happen. He needed it to. He needed to feel that rush of adrenaline again, that life or death kind of excitement. The scuffle in the Greenhouses had helped, but it hadn't been nearly enough to sate him. He picked up his pace and ran toward the forest line.

Reaching the trees, he stayed in the swiftly growing shadows and listened for footfalls. With the music far behind him he could just make it out. They were there, and nearby. He could hear two heavy sets of feet nearly drowning out the lighter one and low, gruff voices.

He slipped into the forest, tightly grasping his wand. He climbed a small hill, careful not to make too much noise as leaves and twigs crunched lightly with each of his steps. His breath was coming quickly and his head swam with anticipation.

"You can just stop right there, now," a hoarse voice instructed. "Be a good lad."

Harry ducked behind a large tree as soon as they came into view. Two huge wizards stood just a few yards away from his hiding spot. He could see the back of a completely bald head glowing in what was left of the evening light, as well as the tangled and greasy mess of wiry hair on the other, shorter one.

"Just tell us what we need to know and we can all go back inside," the bald one enunciated slowly.

Harry recognized them as two of the Ministry guards. They were standing close to one another, each with their wand hands extended toward the third figure that still remained out of sight. He wondered who they were questioning, and why. Had someone infiltrated the school again? That seemed impossible. But, tonight would have been a perfect night for it with the celebration going on so close by.

"We don't speak," said a familiar voice. The sound of it set Harry's heart to pounding. He couldn't be mixed up in all of this again, could he? He'd just spent seven years learning just how bad things could be when you take the wrong side.

The shorter one made a tisking sound. "Locked up with him? For months on end? And you two don't so much as say a word to one another? I don't believe you."

"I don't think I believe him, either, come to think of it," the bald one agreed.

"Listen," Malfoy urged. "I have not spoken a word to my father since the Dark Lord was defeated. I have nothing to say to him."

The men looked at one another, their grins just barely visible in the dying light. "Don't make us do this the hard way, son," threatened the bald one.

Malfoy was either taking a long time choosing his words, or he was refusing to answer. Silence seeped from the small clearing they stood in and Harry's ears were filled with the sound of his own ragged breath.

"Have it your way then," the shorter one shrugged. "_CRUCIO!"_

"_CRUCIO!" _the taller one echoed a second later.

In an instant the air filled with electric light and the sound of Malfoy's agonized screaming. Harry was on his feet and running before he realized it, his wand held out in front of him as if it was dragging him toward the guards.

"_STUPEFY!" _Harry shouted, and the taller guard was thrown off his feet into a heap near Malfoy's twisting body.

The shorter one turned and quickly fired a hex in Harry's direction, missing him by several feet, and then began to run. "_IMPEDIMENTA!" _Harry screamed, hitting the wizard squarely between the shoulders. "_STUPEFY!"_ he added, hitting the man again as he fell to his knees.

Harry collapsed to the ground next to Malfoy and for a moment felt blind panic set in. He was convulsing and grinding his teeth violently. His breath was coming in hard, rough bursts and anguished grunts, but the screaming had stopped.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered, placing a hand lightly on a muddy patch of robe. "I need you to stand up, do you understand? I need to get you out of here."

There was no indication that he'd been heard. "Get ready."

Throwing a stiff arm over one shoulder, Harry heaved them both up to their feet. He could feel muscles moving rhythmically in the forearm he held as Malfoy clenched and unclenched his fist, and began dragging his shuddering body from the clearing as fast as he could make him move.

They were nearly out of the forest when a pained voice whispered, "Stop." Harry ignored it.

"Stop!" Malfoy moaned and flung himself forward onto his hands and knees, retching and swaying.

Harry could hear soft groans coming from him again and again as waves of agony washed over him. He recalled the intense urge to injure him, the one that he'd given into so recently, and felt the same sick feeling of obscenity and shame take hold as it did then.

Harry crouched down next to him. "You ready?"

Malfoy shook his head slowly and began to keen over to one side. He crumpled heavily to the ground, his eyes bright with pain. Beads of sweat drew pale and ragged lines through the smears of dirt on his cheeks.

"Don't touch me," he whispered.

"We have to go," Harry told him, feeling unforgivably cruel. Stooping, he wrapped the same twitching arm back around his shoulders and heaved them both up to their feet again. Malfoy seemed to be losing consciousness quickly now, and Harry had to brace the entirety of the dead weight against his own body to keep them moving.

Beyond the trees, all was quiet. The music had stopped and shadows moved quickly beyond the light of the cabin. Harry spotted a huge figure looming close by and several smaller ones flitting about behind it.

"Hagrid!" Harry called out. "Over here!"

Malfoy let out a weak and painful sounding moan.

Harry ignored him. He tightened his grip and forced his legs to carry them faster.

"That you, Harry?" came the call back. Drawing nearer, Harry could make out McGonagall and Ginny trailing closely behind him.

"In the forest! They attacked him, they cruciated him, both of them did," he shouted to anyone listening. Hagrid nodded and bounded, somewhat off-kilter, into the trees. McGonagall followed a few paces behind him.

Ginny looked deeply concerned as she jogged toward Harry. "Is that who you saw?" she asked, throwing Malfoy's other arm over her tiny shoulders. She was too small to really lend any support, but Harry appreciated the gesture. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were…" she trailed off. They dragged the limp body between them to the castle together in silence.

In the Hospital Wing, Malfoy was given something to keep him asleep as the lingering effects of the double cursing wore off. His brow was tightly creased and his face streamed with sweat, even as he lay unconscious. Poultices had been applied to deep bruises around his collarbones that Harry chose not to explain.

Harry sat alone next to his bed long after Ginny had left. He couldn't seem to bring himself to leave until he was certain that those guards had been collected from the forest.

It wasn't long, though, before McGonagall swept in and took a seat across from him. They spoke in hushed tones over the sleeping patient between them.

"I've contacted the Minister," she told him quietly. "It seems as though they have no record of the two guards who attacked Mr. Malfoy in the forest. It may be that they were hired to impersonate Ministry guards to keep tabs on him. Can you tell me what information they were trying to gather?"

As Harry spoke his eyes remained fixed on Malfoy's still grinding jaw. "They were asking him about his father. I didn't hear what they wanted to know about him, but Draco told them he wasn't on speaking terms with him. They didn't believe him. That's when they both cursed him."

McGonagall shook her head as if she'd been expecting this. "They were wanting to know something about his father's testimony, no doubt. I should have suspected."

She stood suddenly and straightened her robes as she stood to leave. "Thank you, Potter."

"What's going to happen now?" Harry asked the back of her head as she moved toward the door.

"Mr. Malfoy will be moved into safer accommodations in the morning, on his own." She made no mention of his wand. "You should get to bed, Harry."

He nodded. "I will, thank you."

The click of her heels faded swiftly as she left them. Alone in the silent wing, Harry could hear that Malfoy's breathing had slowed and deepened. He had stopped sweating, and his jaw had fallen slack. His mouth opened slightly as he slept, and he was snoring softly.

Harry knew he should leave. It was late and there was no danger, but he felt compelled to stay for a moment longer. He ran through the brawl in the Greenhouse over and over again in his mind. What had come over him? Why had he felt such a bizarre need to shove Malfoy, to fight him, to hurt him? What would he have done if those knuckles hadn't dug into his ribs and kept him at bay? He was shocked at how intense his desire had been to just get closer to him. It was best not to think about it, he decided. He dismissed a far away memory of a broken nose on the floor of the Hogwarts Express. That feeling of disgrace was creeping back in.

He filled the glass on the table next to the bed with water and picked a leaf out of Malfoy's damp hair.

Resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't stay there all night, he lifted Malfoy's arm to straighten the covers. As he placed it back down again, cold fingers wrapped around his hand and squeezed. Harry froze, not sure what to do.

He squeezed back.


	3. Chapter 3

"But I don't understand why you're going to this trial," Ginny complained. Her breath puffed out from her mouth in thick clouds as she spoke. "You're not even testifying. You haven't had to testify in ages!"

As the weeks had passed, Harry diligently attended every trial regardless of whether he'd been involved or not. He felt obligated to be present at each of them, and McGonagall had grudgingly made allowances for his absence every time. More than that, though, he wanted to watch as every guilty sentence was handed out. He enjoyed it, but he wasn't prepared to admit to that to Ginny.

He'd been surprised at first when he realized that Malfoy was doing the same, but he supposed it made sense for him to become familiarized with the patterns that each of trials followed. Harry would probably do the same if he was facing the potential of life in Azkaban.

He made carefully sure to arrive as late as possible each time, and to place himself at the back of the courtroom. The seat he always chose placed him directly in the line of sight of the defendants when they took the stand, and it just so happened that the seat Malfoy chose was three rows directly in front of his own. If he kept a distant eye on him, it was easier to avoid him.

They'd treated one another with a begrudging courteousness since the night in the Forbidden Forest, but they had not spoken. Malfoy's new accommodations were in a disused office space most recently inhabited by the Carrow siblings, and as it was on the same floor as the Gryffindor dormitories Harry had been forced to carefully time each trip to class to avoid any accidental meeting or possible conversation.

He hadn't yet sorted through why it was he'd wanted to so badly to attack Malfoy in the Greenhouses, and he'd especially not worked out why it was he'd sat by his sick bed holding his hand for over an hour later that night. And yet, his usual suspicions of Malfoy's every action had remained firmly in place, and he'd not been able to get him off of his mind. He was a habit, engrained into Harry's daily life at Hogwarts over the better part of a decade, and apparently next to impossible to break.

"I just need to be there, Ginny," he sighed, stepping through the Hogwarts gates onto the leaf-strewn drive beyond.

"Yeah, fine," she agreed unhappily. "Just, come back right after, ok? I have a Quidditch match this afternoon, and it would be nice to know you're there." Hopping up onto her tiptoes, she planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and trudged back toward the castle.

Harry was pleased to be alone, but he didn't feel good about his continuing neglect of Ginny. He decided to come back early, if necessary, to see her match. That would make her happy. Who was she playing against? Which House was ahead? He was sure she'd told him, but it was likely that he hadn't been listening. She was always telling him that he never listened.

Taking a few quick steps away from the gates, he disapparated to his usual spot around the corner from the Ministry. He could hear the roaring chaos of the media milling about the public toilets that served as an entrance before he saw them. As always, he was immediately swarmed as he rounded the corner.

"Harry Potter!" one wizard screamed at him as he pushed through the throng. "Will you be testifying against Mr. Parkinson?"

"No," he shouted back, his eyes on the ground as he moved slowly forward.

"Do you believe Parkinson was a Death Eater?" another hollered.

"I have no idea," he replied, shoving his way further into the crowd.

As he neared the entrance, he came upon a solid wall of reporters facing away from him. Ignoring the shouts for his attention from behind, he struggled through. Ducking Quick Quills and cameras held aloft, he could see the doors just a few feet away. The reporters up here seemed to ignore him as he wove past, distracted by something just up ahead. He spotted a woman's hand reaching out to him, and Harry happily accepted the help.

He was yanked out of the crushing throng into the open and quickly pulled up onto the steps of the public toilets. Taking a few deep breaths of the cold autumn air, he thanked whoever it was who had rescued him and turned to go in.

"You're welcome," Narcissa Malfoy answered. With a chilly smile, she spun him around and deposited him to her right as they faced the hollering swarm together. "There are things we'd like to clear up, young man," she whispered into his ear, her hand still firmly clasped around his wrist.

To Harry's right stood Draco. With his white-blonde hair perfectly combed and dark dress robes perfectly pressed, he looked imposing and otherworldly in the pale morning light. His slate eyes met Harry's and he nodded quickly, almost apologetically.

Shoving her way forward, a witch in glaring magenta robes snapped a photo of them standing together and then scribbled something onto her notepad without a word.

"Mr. Malfoy!" someone else called out. "Is it true that Mr. Potter rescued you from torture in the Forbidden Forest at the beginning of the school year?"

Narcissa elbowed Harry lightly in the ribs and continued to smile for the cameras.

"He assisted me upon my return to the castle that evening," Malfoy enunciated with perfect dignity.

From his slightly higher vantage, Harry could see the rows of bodies beginning to split apart at the back of the crowd like a fissure in stone, as if someone else was forcing their way through after him. More than likely Rita Skeeter, he judged by the speed at which the fracture seemed to be traveling.

"Draco," someone called out. "Some people are speculating that these wizards were hired by your father to bully you into testifying to the innocence of the accused. Is this the truth?"

"They were looking for information about my father," he corrected them. "And they didn't get any."

"Would you two say that you and Mr. Potter have become friends through all of this?" a tall, bearded wizard called out.

"No," Harry answered at precisely the same time that Malfoy replied, "Somewhat."

Narcissa laughed nervously. "They are much closer now than they were as children," she explained.

Malfoy shot him a scathing look and Harry tried to wipe the confused expression off of his face before too many photos could be taken of it. The person he assumed to be Skeeter was nearly there, judging by the angry shouts in the crowd, and he needed to be at his most expressionless when she got to him.

"Harry, how will your friendship with Draco Malfoy affect your testimony if you are called up at his trial?" the magenta witch called out.

"It won't," Harry replied, watching the lines of reporters jostle and break directly behind her.

"How can you be so sure – hey!"

A middle-aged wizard in faded robes burst past her, screaming words Harry had never heard with his wand held high above his head. A hideous roar like the sound of a thousand storms rose up and battered Harry's eardrums. Pain exploded behind his eyes as the soft morning light sharpened and intensified to a piercing white.

Blind and deaf, he felt Narcissa collapse at his side just as the light and sound died suddenly together. Dazed and still unable to see, Harry raised his wand defensively. He could feel the heat of Malfoy's body to his right, frozen in place as if waiting for his senses to return before moving.

As the ringing in Harry's ears lessened, he could hear shouts of terror. Squinting, he could just make out the shapes of the reporters fleeing. Too late, he spotted a red orb of light streaking toward his chest through the crowd.

Someone shouted something. There was a hand around his arm, throwing him forward. The red orb flew over his head, barely missing him as he crashed painfully down the steps. Landing awkwardly on his shoulder, he could distinctly feel it snap out of joint. Someone was screaming very far away, and as he righted himself the cracking sounds of dozens of disapperations told him that the reporters were fleeing.

Gripping his throbbing arm, he climbed to his feet and stumbled half blind toward the spot he'd heard the screaming coming from. He could just make out the sound of pained moaning nearby. Somewhere very close, someone's teeth were grinding brutally against one another.

* * *

"There is no way to know if the curse was intended for you, or for Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall insisted. "I fear that certain measures will have to be taken to ensure that the both of you are kept safe until all of this is over."

After their release from St. Mungo's, they had been transported back to Hogwarts by a stern group of Ministry guards that had clearly made Malfoy tremendously uncomfortable. Now, however, they sat in the Head Mistress' quiet office with cups of tea rapidly cooling in their hands.

"What kind of measures?" Malfoy asked, grumpily adjusting the cold cloth on his forehead.

McGonagall took a sip and set her cup down. "While I don't feel comfortable with those guards wandering about the school grounds, I have no choice but to let them. Harry, I must insist that you are watched over. At the same time the Ministry is insisting that Draco remains watched over. However, they cannot spare enough of them to cover you both separately, which leaves me in a difficult position. I'm going to have to ask, Harry, that you move into the second dormitory in the office space that Draco is currently residing in. I will also have to, I'm sorry to say, insist that you both respect a strict curfew. If you are not in class or taking a meal, you will need to remain in the rooms that you've been provided until the trials have been completed, or the school year finishes. Whichever comes first. Please stop moaning, Mr. Malfoy, these will be legitimate Ministry guards."

"That's not necessary at all," Harry told her. He'd been doing so well avoiding having to deal with any of his own bizarre behaviour, and this would absolutely mean that he would need to begin really thinking about it. "I can stay with Hagrid."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. This is only temporary and you'll have a bedroom to yourself for the first time in your entire academic career here. You should be pleased about that at least."

Malfoy tugged the cloth down over his eyes and sunk deeper into the tartan chair he had so recently been tearing at.

There was no arguing with her. Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room to find Ginny and the rest of the team celebrating their victory over whichever House it had been that they'd defeated.

"Harry!" she called out, sprinting over to him. "I heard what happened, are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine." He wrapped his arms around her waist and let her kiss him, manfully ignoring the stiffness in his newly healed shoulder.

"Where are Hermione and Ron?" he asked, scanning the jumble of Gryffindors.

Ginny shrugged. "Around. They disappeared a while ago, why?"

He'd have to speak with them later, then. "Listen, I've got to tell you something."

She took the news of his abrupt move quite well, but a slight squint in her eyes betrayed distinct unhappiness when he explained to her about the curfew.

"When will I see you, then? Just classes and meals?"

"Just for now," he reassured her, ignoring the growing sensation that he'd somehow bought himself a bit of freedom along with what was basically incarceration.

Packing didn't take long, and he was rolling his trunk into his new lodgings within the hour.

The main office space was larger than he'd expected, and had been decorated like a miniature common room in the colours of all four Houses. An oversized sofa faced a large fireplace and the walls were completely lined with bookshelves. He understood this to mean that library trips were to be forbidden as well.

A door to his right stood partially open revealing a dark room beyond that he assumed was to be his. There was a second door to his left, up a small flight of stairs, with light bleeding out through the cracks.

Not wanting to disturb his new dorm mate, Harry quietly entered the dark room to unpack his things. It was larger than he'd expected, almost cavernous, and sparsely decorated. A large bed sagged sadly underneath a drafty window and an enormous wardrobe stood crookedly next to it. Small candles flickered weakly on the walls, casting wan light over the gloomy space.

Harry quite liked it. He didn't want to find himself enjoying this, and learning to sleep in what was basically a damp cell would keep him from feeling too much at home.

Once his things were safely stowed in moldy smelling drawers, he stepped back out into the common area. Malfoy was reclined on the couch with an enormous book on his lap. He feet rested on an open parcel, crossed casually at the ankle.

"Reading?" Harry asked idiotically.

"You've caught me," Malfoy replied, his eyes fixed to the page as he absently chewed at his lower lip.

Harry laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, what are you reading?"

"A very old Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. I've been cursed three times in the last month and a half, and I have no wand. I need to do something about this."

Harry ignored sudden irrational apprehension about Malfoy learning anything at all to do with the Dark Arts. Realizing there were no other chairs in the room, he also ignored the ample space on the couch and sat down awkwardly on the floor. "I've seen it done," he said nervously. Why was he so nervous? "I've seen someone defend himself without a wand."

Malfoy nodded, still scanning the pages of the book. "Yes, Fenrir Greyback. I've seen it too, obviously. He can parry a curse without a wand as well as you or I could with one." He smiled, "Or, at least as well as you could."

"You should work on that, then." Harry wondered if he'd always been this boring. Maybe no one had ever had the heart to tell him.

"I have been. Who do you think jinxed those Third Years last month?"

In spite of himself, Harry laughed. "What's that you've got your feet on?"

"Oh," Malfoy set aside the textbook and sat forward to retrieve the contents of the box. "A little gift from mummy. The standard dozen bottles of wine that every mother sends along to their child while they're away at school." He shrugged, handing Harry a bottle to inspect.

"I would like some of this right now, please," Harry said quickly, not so much as glancing at the label. This could certainly help to ease the dizzy tension he felt.

"If I say no, are you going to attack me again?"

When Harry looked up, Malfoy was smiling. "Sorry about that. That was –"

"Weird. That was very weird, Potter." He stood fluidly and retrieved two glasses from a cupboard nearby.

* * *

One and half bottles of wine later, Malfoy dangled miserably in the air by the ankle, his head two feet above the ground. "This is not working out at all," he complained.

"Liberacorpus," Harry intoned in agreement, watching with a small smile as Draco slammed to the floor.

"I said warn me before you drop me!" he shouted, rubbing his forehead.

"Oops." Harry poured himself another glass of wine.

Malfoy grunted and finished off what was left of his own. "Again."

Harry shook his head. "Let's try something else. It won't look good on me if you fall and break your neck."

"No way. I am not walking around covered in fur or with boils all over my face or whatever else you might think is hilariously clever. Just bloody well warn me before you drop me!" He stood and smoothed his hair out of his eyes.

Harry could see a lump already forming where his head had connected with the stone flooring. "If you trust me to shoot jinxes at you, you should probably trust me to fix them afterward."

"Who said anything about trusting you? I've got limited options, Potter. You're it, so try again."

"I'm tired, Malfoy, it's nearly midnight - "

"Now!"

"Fine! _Levicorpus_!"

Whatever Draco was doing to try to block the jinxes was completely useless. He was instantly jerked off of his feet by the ankle and dragged up into the air.

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

Harry laughed. "A little."

If he was completely honest with himself, this was the most fun he'd had in months. Watching the blood rush into Malfoy's pale and annoyed face made him smile each time he did it, but he had a few things on his mind.

"They haven't told me for certain if I'll be testifying against you," he said, tilting his head slightly.

"What? This isn't the time for chit chat, Potter."

Harry sat down near Draco's dangling body and sipped his wine. "I'm just saying, I think it's strange that we're being made to stay here together if I'll be taking the stand to send you to Azkaban."

Malfoy's bloodshot eyes widened. "Put me down."

"Don't you think it's strange?" Harry finished off his glass and filled it again, emptying the bottle. He felt quite warm and was happy to find that he was pleasantly drunk.

"You haven't put Veritaserum in my wine, have you? Have you managed to learn Legilimency over the summer? Put me down, Potter!" Malfoy squirmed and stretched his arms out, his fingers just barely missing Harry's face. His shirt crumpled down to his chest, revealing pink, crisscrossing scars along the length of his pallid torso.

A distant memory of an argument, of Malfoy's blood on his hands, of humiliation and shame flickered through Harry's consciousness for a fraction of a second before being banished to the recesses with the rest of his festering regrets.

"I just think it's strange. I'm not interrogating you." Harry crossed his legs and broke the jinx with a wave.

Draco hit the floor with another grunt, but otherwise without protest. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he snatched Harry's glass from his hand and drained it in one long swallow. The wine had stained his frowning lips a soft pink, and Harry found himself staring. For the first time, he noticed that over the years Malfoy's sharp, pointed features had transformed into a strong jaw and high, elegant cheekbones. His grey eyes were large when he wasn't scowling, and were surrounded by long, pale lashes. The nervousness Harry had struggled to ignore earlier in the evening swarmed again in the pit of his stomach and his head began to swim. He'd obviously had far too much to drink.

"Listen," Malfoy said slowly, avoiding his gaze. "If they have us locked up playing happy families in here together, I doubt you'll have to testify in my trial. I wouldn't worry about it."

"I'm not worried," Harry protested.

"Just drunk."

He smiled. "A bit."

"Well, those were very expensive bottles of wine you've wasted," Malfoy informed him, stretching up to his full height. "We should get some sleep."

"Hey," Harry objected, pulling himself gracelessly to his feet as well. "Why did you throw me out of the way today? When that bloke tried to curse me?"

Draco shook his head at his slurring dorm mate. "It's always about you, isn't it?"

"What?"

"He was trying to curse me, you complete dullard. I was trying to get away because, as you can now see, I haven't figured out how to protect myself without my wand."

Harry laughed, not believing a word. "Fine. Ok, but say they do ask me to testify."

"You're all over the place tonight, Potter."

"Just listen. If they do, they're going to ask me about that time last year when the Snatchers brought me to your house. Probably. And they're going to ask me why you didn't give me up when they asked you who I was."

Malfoy crossed his arms and stared haughtily at the fireplace. "What are you looking for here? Proof that I'm secretly a good person deep down?"

"I just need to know!" Harry snapped.

Malfoy stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed to the flames across the room. It was clear that he would not be offering up any new information willingly.

"I'd understand if you said you were just afraid."

"I was never afraid!" Malfoy bellowed, shattering the quiet of the dormitory.

Harry laughed again, and immediately regretted it. This was not the kind of response to give if he wanted to learn anything tonight. "It's fine if you were afraid. I was."

A derisive snort was all the reply he was offered as Malfoy turned and headed for the stairs leading to his own room.

Panicking, Harry rushed forward. He was so close to figuring this out, this mystery that had plagued him from the back of his mind for months, and he wasn't going to miss his chance. Surely this is why he hadn't been able to expel Malfoy from his every waking thought. Suddenly, he couldn't think of anything more important than hearing the answer.

Grabbing Draco by the shoulders, he spun him back around so that they were face to face once more.

"I need to know!" he insisted loudly, making sure his voice came out just shy of an angry roar.

"Drop it, Potter!" Draco was shoving him again, but much more powerfully than he had in the Greenhouses. Harry crashed backward into a small table, crying out as the full force of his own weight jammed his arm up into the socket of his sore shoulder.

Furious, he lunged again. Catching Malfoy by surprise, they fell to the floor in a knot of struggling limbs. Harry strained to keep him pinned to the floor, but the sudden onslaught of vicious blows to his abdomen quickly weakened his resolve, and he was flipped over onto his back.

Malfoy's right hand tangled painfully into Harry's hair as he knelt over him, and when he looked up Harry saw the left drawn back as if to continue the assault on his face. He grabbed weakly at it with his injured arm and readied himself. He was suddenly very, very tired.

Their hot breath mingled to fog his glasses again, and through the haze he could see Malfoy's pink lips hanging open as if to speak. He wasn't moving.

"Just tell me," Harry whispered. "You dogged my footsteps for years, you tormented me, and then suddenly you saved my life."

The strength bled from Draco's hand as he loomed above. "Potter…"

Harry dropped the wrist he was clinging to and wrapped his hand around the pale neck above him. Drawing on whatever insane confidence the wine had imbued him with, he pulled down until those stained lips were pressing stiffly against his own.

He could hear soft sounds of protest above him, but the fingers twisting his hair loosened. Harry pulled again on Draco's neck, drawing him deeper into the kiss. As his tongue slipped through, the stiff lips softened and Harry felt the body over his shudder faintly. The weight over him increased slightly as the hand that had been poised to strike a moment before slid slowly under his shirt to clamp icily around his waist.

Harry's heart thundered in his chest and his ears were filled with the sound of ragged breathing again, but this time it wasn't his own.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: There will be actual plot progression in the next chapter, I promise._

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The pounding in his head dragged Harry from the depths of a deep sleep. Squeezing his eyes shut against the glaring morning light, he pulled the blanket over his face and groaned.

He could hear movement in the room that signaled the mass morning exodus of the other Gryffindor boys for the Great Hall. Holding his breath he waited for everyone to leave, hoping that no one would bother to collect him for breakfast.

But wait. That couldn't be right. He'd been moved out of the dormitory yesterday. He wondered if his dank new room looked at all hospitable in the daylight, but he was just going to have to keep wondering until this headache passed. His stomach churned and he decided he was getting sick.

He licked his parched lips. What was that he was tasting? The sweetness made him feel infinitely worse.

The shuffling sound stopped and he heard a door close. He was alone in his room, finally.

But wait. Who'd been in his room?

He peeked one eye over the covers and squinted at the blurry furniture around him. This was not his room. He didn't know this room. Did he know this room?

He slapped at the table next to him until he found his glasses and slid them on gently. Licking his lips again, he wondered at the sickening sweetness as a vision of a dark glass of wine flashed through his mind.

That explained the hang over.

He climbed gingerly from the bed and began the slow search for his clothes. It occurred to him that his nakedness was probably strange, but he didn't have the energy to worry about that.

An image of Malfoy dangling in the air by his ankle flickered behind his eyes as he located his trousers, making him smile. Bending to put them on, the rest of the night flooded back in an overwhelming deluge of disjointed memories. Fists pounding into his stomach and a hand ripping at his hair. An awkward kiss and cold fingers creeping up under his shirt. The smoothness of deeps scars under his tongue. A hot mouth on his neck, on his stomach, on his thigh…

He stood with a start. He knew his shirt wouldn't be found in here.

He crept to the door and pressed an ear to it, listening for sounds of life on the other side. Hearing nothing, he opened it slowly and was immediately hit in the face with his own shirt and robes.

"Potter, I am hungry," he heard Malfoy say close by. "The trolls guarding our door won't let me leave for breakfast without you, so make yourself presentable."

On the fabric Harry could smell sweat and mint and oak, and when he pulled it away he found that he was alone again. He breathed through a pang of nausea and threw on his wrinkled clothing.

He stared at the door. He had no interest in facing food or the noise of the Great Hall, not to mention the person waiting for him on the other side, but he knew he had no choice but to go. The door seemed very far away.

"Potter, hurry up!" Malfoy shouted from outside.

Taking a few more deep breaths, he crossed the room to meet the others in the corridor. Malfoy stood between the two massive guards wearing his usual sneer. His hair was combed immaculately and his robes hung to the floor in long, perfectly pressed lines. "Took you long enough," he muttered as he spun and began walking away.

A guard nudged Harry forward, and he kept pace with his dorm mate in silence. His head rang to the sounds of footsteps and voices around him and he tasted bile at the back of his mouth. A knot seemed to have taken up residence where his voice box should have been, and the entire world seemed to smell of someone else's skin.

Malfoy wasn't looking at him, and he was surprised at how irritating this was. He must have been feeling as uncomfortable as Harry did, although not likely as ill, but he was walking with his usual swagger. He nodded at fellow Slytherins as they passed and occasionally checked his watch.

"I can't believe how late you've made me," he grumbled as they walked through the doors to the Great Hall.

Harry didn't respond. He'd spotted Hermione sitting alone with a book open next to her plate and he was privately reveling in the great sense of relief this gave him. Splitting away from the group, he felt cool fingers brush against the back of his neck. Chills washed down his spine and he smiled in spite of himself, but he did not break his gait. If Malfoy was going to act as if nothing had happened, he would do the same.

"Harry, you look awful!" Hermione told him as he sat down across from her. Reaching out to straighten his hair, she shook her head disapprovingly at the guards skulking by the entrance. "Is it that bad where they're keeping you? Are you still not sleeping?"

Harry shrugged and picked up a glass of water. "Where is everyone?"

"Quidditch practise, of course."

"Right, right." Harry should have known that, but he was glad not to have to face Ginny. He hadn't decided what to say to her yet, if anything. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, and he couldn't imagine admitting to anyone what he'd done. He pushed the troubling thoughts from his mind and sipped delicately at his water as he scanned the room.

The top of Malfoy's head was barely visible just over Hermione's shoulder. It was bobbing as if he was talking to someone, maybe laughing. Harry leaned slightly to the right, trying to get a better view of whoever was being so funny.

"Harry, I've been doing some reading this morning," Hermione said.

"Oh yeah?" He watched as Malfoy handed a piece of toast to Astoria Greengrass. She said something and his head bobbed ridiculously with laughter again. Harry had never known Greengrass to be funny at all, and it looked like she had plenty of food on her plate already. What was he playing at over there?

"Harry, I'm talking to you!" Hermione snapped. She leaned over to make eye contact and completely blocked his view across the room.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"Listen, I don't think they can hold you against your will like this. I'm fairly certain that, if we petition the Ministry, they'll have to let you come back to the Gryffindor dormitories. Plus, you've always been safest at Hogwarts. I'll send an owl this morning, what do you think?"

"Hermione, don't worry about it. It's just temporary." He hoped that was convincing. While the idea of running away and pretending that nothing had happened seemed ideal, he needed one more night in the office space to sort everything out. He ran his tongue along a raw spot on the inside of his lip, indulging in the memory of teeth raking painfully, perfectly, against it.

"Aren't you hungry?" Hermione asked in maternal tones. "You should eat."

Harry shook his head distractedly as he watched Malfoy stand and begin walking back to the waiting guards with Greengrass at his side.

"We should get going," he decided.

Because Harry and Draco didn't share identical schedules, they were forced to attend each other's classes during what would have otherwise been their respective free periods. In these extra lessons, the odd one out was instructed to sit at the back of the room doing busywork for the duration. Harry finished what he would consider to be a satisfactory Charms essay during an Ancient Runes class that he was forced to endure, and Malfoy flipped lazily through a textbook and sniggered loudly at Ron's failed attempts to turn a statue of a bird into a live one during a Transfiguration period that he was not enrolled in. Neither of them spoke to one another, and if Malfoy was merely feigning disinterest in Harry that day he was doing a marvelous job of it. To the casual observer it would appear, for the first time in nearly a decade, that the two of them were treating one another with amicable indifference, and Harry could not stop obsessing over this fact. As difficult as he found it, he made a sincere effort to appear as calmly detached as his dorm mate, regardless of how badly he wanted to shake him by the shoulders and – what? Ask him how he felt about what they'd done? Punch him in stomach for being so cavalier about the whole thing? He had no idea what he wanted to do, but he couldn't banish the thought from his mind.

There were no real breaks for either of them all day long, and by dinner Harry was exhausted. He found himself sitting nervously between Ginny and Ron trying to remember what it was like to feel healthy, comfortable and innocent all at once, but he was coming up with nothing. Ginny affectionately gripped his hand beneath the table as she usually did and chatted with Hermione.

"Mate, I really need to talk to you about something," Ron whispered to him, leaning in closely.

"What is it?" Harry replied, trying his best to sound interested and supportive. He was distracted by the latest concern of the day – the tremendous urge to return to his dorm and confirm that Malfoy hadn't been talking to anyone. Following that, he needed to ensure it was understood that what they'd done would never happen again, that it had all been an enormous mistake, and that it was absolutely not acceptable that Draco had gone about his day behaving as if nothing had happened at all. He also needed to focus on suppressing the twinges of nervous excitement and bitter resentment that kept creeping up on him every time he let his mind wander.

Ron glanced around Harry at his sister. "I can't really say now, can I come by tonight? Just for a few minutes?"

He shrugged. He'd been doing a lot of shrugging today. "I'm not sure, but you can try."

Ron seemed satisfied and tucked into the meal with his usual fury. Harry searched the room quickly for another glimpse of Draco. He was sitting next to Greengrass again, smiling and picking at the food in front of him but otherwise looking worn out as well. Harry relaxed a bit and watched as he nodded along to whatever was being said, but he didn't seem to be speaking. When their eyes met Malfoy held his gaze, his face expressionless and infuriatingly unreadable. After a moment he nodded his head almost imperceptibly toward the babbling girl next to him and raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. Harry struggled not to smile.

"Anyway, I should get to the library," Ginny was saying. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, right, that's okay," Harry replied as if he'd been listening. He wondered if she'd been talking to him for long and when she'd released his hand. He realized that he'd forgotten she was there.

"I'll see you tomorrow, ok?" With a kiss that lasted longer than Harry felt it needed to, she sped out of the room.

When Harry glanced back to the Slytherin table Malfoy was staring down at his plate again, nodding along to the conversation as absently as before.

Their lumbering shadows didn't seem to notice or care when Ron followed them into the office later that evening. Harry directed him to the dank hole that was his room and sat down on the unpleasantly squishy mattress. A plume of dust rose up around him, signaling to anyone paying attention that this bed had not been slept in for years.

Ron didn't seem to notice. He was pacing with long, anxious strides, lost in thought. "Sorry we weren't there to see you off last night," he began, stopping at the far end of the room to stare out of a drafty and filthy window.

"It's alright."

"It was just, with the win and all… And I was feeling like celebrating. Really confident, I guess, you know?"

"Sure," Harry felt like he knew where this was going.

"So, Hermione and I…" he fell silent, still staring out the window.

"Slept together," Harry finished for him.

Ron turned around, his face flushed scarlet and stretched out into a broad smile. "Yeah," he confirmed quietly. "Did she tell you already?"

"Just a lucky guess."

Ron began pacing anxiously again. "I just started wondering today. You know, about you and Ginny…"

"No. Never," Harry said quickly. "We haven't. It's not that I don't want to, but - "

Ron threw up his hands. "That's all I need to know."

Harry laughed uncomfortably. There was nothing he'd rather talk about less than this, but luckily Ron didn't stay long. As he walked his friend out, Harry pretended not to notice the person stretched out on the sofa reading a weathered Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He ignored the nervous stirring in his stomach and the distinct feeling of being watched. He pretended that everything was normal and said pleasant goodbyes.

Once the heavy door had creaked closed, the room became oppressively quiet. Aside from the crackle of the fireplace and the whisper of turning pages, Harry could almost imagine that he was completely alone. Focusing his gaze to his own feet, he made a sincere effort to return to his room without appearing to be retreating.

They could talk later.

He just needed to gather his thoughts first.

He shouldn't jump into a conversation like this without a plan of some kind.

He'd nearly reached the door before Malfoy spoke.

"Potter," he said coolly.

Harry froze, still facing in the opposite direction. He considered acting as if he hadn't heard anything, but he'd paused for too long now.

"What?" he choked out. The knot from that morning had apparently returned.

"I thought we were going to keep at it?"

Harry heard the heavy book hit the floor with a thud and the soft groan of the sofa as weight was lifted off of it.

"What?"

"_What_?" Malfoy mocked. "Practicing. Look, I learned something new."

Instantly Harry felt the floor disappear beneath his feet and he was thrown up into the air. The ceiling was rushing toward him and his arms were stiff and useless at his sides. He tried to call out, to say anything at all, but he was perfectly frozen. He stopped suddenly, floating centimeters from a painful impact for a split second before plummeting back down. He landed on the floor hard, knocking all of the air out of his chest in a painful rush. His limbs tingled viciously as sensation returned and he struggled to draw oxygen back into his lungs.

"Whoops."

Harry was dragged back up to his feet by the arm and deposited roughly in front of the person he was suddenly desperate to avoid.

"You're supposed to be learning to block curses, not throw them," he wheezed angrily.

"Yeah, well, it's all related, isn't it?" Malfoy replied, backing a few feet away. "Ok, try to hit me with something."

"Look, I'm not in the mood for this tonight, I - "

"Do it!"

Harry sighed and drew his wand, firing a weak spell that was parried easily.

Malfoy grinned, bending his knees slightly as if readying himself to catch a ball. "Ok, for real this time."

"_Steleus_," Harry intoned lazily, watching with some irritation as his hex was deflected. "_Densaugeo_," he tried next, effortlessly foiled again.

"Not the face!" Malfoy warned, still wearing a pompous grin. "I don't want both of us to have to suffer."

Harry felt his own face burn with embarrassment and he too squared his stance. He glared across the room at Malfoy's arrogant countenance and cleared his throat. "_Antenoculatia_! _Mutatio Skullus_!" he shouted, firing the hexes one after another at his unarmed and smug opponent. "_Tentaclifors_!

Each one hit stronger than the last, but still Malfoy was able to block them. The look of self-satisfaction began to slip, replaced by one of increasing panic. "Enough!" he demanded, backing away after each deflection. "Stop!"

Harry ignored the instruction and advanced on his target. His unease and discomfort twisted and mutated into a vindictive rage that seemed utterly natural. After a day of pathetic squirming, Harry suddenly felt more like himself again. Streaks of light poured from his wand, one following quickly after the other as he slowly inched across the room, stalking after his prey.

"_Duro_!" he screamed, watching as this hex was batted infuriatingly away to transform a nearby wall sconce into solid stone.

"I mean it!" Malfoy shouted, his back slamming into a book-lined wall. "What are you doing?"

"_Incarcerous_!" Harry called, watching with a great deal of pleasure as he finally landed a spell. He paused and watched Draco's shoulders rising and falling rapidly with alarm as he struggled against the ropes now bound tightly around his torso. His grey eyes were narrowed to slits and his cheeks had flushed to that soft pink shade Harry was growing so fond of. Moving closer, he let his wand fall to the floor with a clatter.

Malfoy wriggled against his bindings, keeping his livid gaze fixed on Harry. "What are you doing?" he asked again, though much more quietly now.

Closing the gap between them, Harry reached out to brush soft, white hair from a damp and defenseless face. "What have you done?" he whispered, just as much to himself as to his miserable captive.

Twin desires flared up within him, one to harm and the other to caress. Wrapping his arms around the twisting figure before him, he clamped his hands around the knots securing the rope and his mouth just below an earlobe. He could feel the pulse thundering beneath his lips as he held them there, waiting.

"Untie me." Malfoy's voice was a ragged murmur, barely audible. He'd stopped writhing and his jaw tilted back hesitantly.

"You ignored me all day," Harry complained, his lips raising goosebumps as they brushed against the soft flesh with each word. His hands worked slowly to loosen a knot and he bit down lightly. "You're such a prick."

"Did you expect me to hold your hand?" came the reply.

Harry laughed bitterly and drew back as far as he could while still working on the ropes. He realized that, after all these years, Malfoy was still slightly taller than him. Pale stubble peppered his sharp jaw, surrounding a thin scar that ran along the length of it on one side. Harry wondered if he'd done that to him in Sixth Year as well.

"Were you expecting breakfast in bed?" Malfoy asked, his voice still a low rumble. "I've seen the way you've been watching me."

Harry pulled the end of a rope free and let it drop. The coils slumped, no longer supported, and slid slowly to the floor. Neither of them moved. "How's that?"

Malfoy was sneering again. "I see you every day. Watching me, staring at me. You've wanted me for a long time."

"I think you'll find it's been the other way around," Harry corrected. "I've been on your mind every day – every single day – since the moment you met me."

Malfoy's mouth twitched into a half smile as he cupped an icy hand around the back of Harry's neck. "Fair enough," he conceded, pulling them together into a hard kiss.

Harry dissolved into the moment with abandon, the awkwardness of the past twenty-four hours a distant memory supplanted by a mutual and unrelenting need. He wrapped his arms tightly around the slender body pressed against his, each motion growing increasingly aggressive, hopelessly insistent, as they moved together. The frenzy of lost buttons and a torn collar, four bruised wrists, a scratched back, stinging scalp and his own wrenched neck mingled with a familiar urge to get closer until dawn found him naked, waking groggily in an unfamiliar bed for the second time.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry couldn't sleep. After weeks of deep and uninterrupted nightly rest, tonight he couldn't manage to get his mind to slow down long enough to drift off. The mattress felt hard below him and his pillow seemed to have all but deflated.

Lately his days had fallen into a steady pattern that he'd come to enjoy. Each morning he woke alone in a room that didn't belong to him. Rather than taking a moment to steel himself against a crushing sense of purposelessness, as he'd become accustomed to doing each morning over the summer, he woke feeling fine. Just fine, which was a marked improvement. Next, he dressed quickly and departed in silence for the Great Hall to eat with Ginny and the others. He'd stopped feeling guilty about betraying her trust long ago, and as far as he could tell she merely suspected him of being distracted and somewhat selfish, rather than a remorseless cheater. He rarely thought about it anymore.

He never spoke a word to Malfoy during the day, and he in turn completely ignored Harry throughout every class and meal. After dinner they continued to practice long into the evening, every evening, perfecting Malfoy's magic skills without the aid of a wand. Harry had even begun learning wandless defense himself, but it was proving far more difficult in his case. Whatever kind of mental shield Draco was able to draw upon, Harry simply couldn't seem to match it. He had been stupefied at least a dozen times alone, not taking into account every other hex, jinx and charm that had broken through the weak barriers he managed to conjure. And each night, without exception, they wound up together in what had usually been a very comfortable bed. Harry had come to rely on the feeling of another body next to his as he slept each night, and he'd learned to enjoy the smell of Malfoy on his clothes. When their eyes met in the Great Hall, Harry felt as if he was in on a tremendous secret, and even when they argued bitterly – which was still very frequent – Harry was happier than he'd been in months.

But today had been different. He had been called into McGonagall's office after breakfast, alone. He'd been preoccupied with worry that she'd somehow found out about what had been going on in the office space each night, and whether she'd be angrier about Malfoy's extracurricular activities or, well, the other extracurricular activities. If she'd found out about one, then she'd likely found out about the other and there was no way either would please her. He'd been certain that he was about to be moved again, and was so distracted by concern that he'd barely noticed the cup of tea she'd given him until it was burning his hand.

"Harry, are you aware of the date of Draco's trial?" she'd asked.

"No," he told her. He realized then that he'd never thought to ask.

She nodded slowly, taking a sip from her own cup. "Three days from now, on Monday. In the mean time, if you'll be needing to speak to anyone about what kind of questions you'll be facing, let me know by the end of the day. I'll send an owl, if you need."

Harry had told her that he was sure he'd be fine and stepped back into his usual schedule. He hadn't given it another thought until now, lying with his arm numb and trapped beneath the sleeping body next to him. In the stillness of the night, his worries were inescapable.

"Hey," he whispered, slowly freeing himself. There was a slight stirring and the blanket was dragged entirely to the other side of the bed.

"Hey," he repeated. "Are you asleep?"

"Shush," Malfoy muttered.

Sitting up, Harry could see through the window that it was snowing outside. "Your trial is on Monday."

"Yep."

"You didn't tell me."

Malfoy groaned. "I thought you knew. Shut up and go to sleep."

"I have to testify, what am I supposed to say?"

There was another groan. "I haven't been worried about it."

"Well, I'm worried about it." Harry yanked the covers back onto his legs, and in the pale light he watched Malfoy roll over to frown up at him.

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm being realistic."

Malfoy pulled the blanket up over his face. "Just tell the truth!" he whined through the fabric.

Harry yanked it away and scowled down at him. "If I tell the truth, they'll twist things around and find a way lock you up for the rest of your life."

"Then lie."

"I can't lie!"

"Why are we even having this fucking conversation, then?" Malfoy snapped. "Listen to me, because I'm only going to talk to you about this once. What we have going on is weird – great, but weird. We're not in love, here. We're not a couple. And I don't think either of us expects this to continue after we move out of these rooms. So, you don't owe me anything. If you testify against me, I'm not going to feel betrayed or heartbroken. I'll be angry with you, but I'm going to be angry with everyone who testifies against me. If you feel like you need to send me to Azkaban, you're welcome to try."

Harry shook his head, trying to ignore the sting of what he was hearing. "You're just being a shit because I woke you up."

"I'm being honest, which is rare, so you should be paying attention. If you testify against me, I won't be surprised. Really, I've been expecting it. And if I'm found innocent anyway, nothing will change. I still have to stay in these rooms until my father's trial, and so do you." Pulling himself up onto his elbows, his frown faltered slightly and he continued in softer tones. "If it makes things easier for you to start sleeping in your own bed, I get it… You're a blanket hog anyway."

Harry searched the ghostly face in front of him for any sign of insincerity. "You have to admit, this all complicates things."

"Only if you let it."

Harry lowered his head to the flat pillow and turned over to face the edge of the bed. He knew that if he pressed the subject he'd wind up arguing like a snubbed lover, and that was too embarrassing to imagine. More than that, he didn't have the energy for a dramatic retreat to the other room in the middle of the night. He didn't believe that the past few weeks had been just 'weird', and he doubted that Malfoy meant what he'd said. He hoped so, at least. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for sleep to take him.

In the haze of half-consciousness he felt a cool arm snake around his waist and soft breath against the back of his ear.

This was very complicated.

… … …

Like usual, Harry woke alone. He threw his clothes on and headed down to the common area, taking the stairs two at a time. He wanted to get through this weekend as quickly as possible, and getting down to breakfast right away decreased the amount of time he'd have to be alone with Malfoy. Less time together meant less time wasted pretending he wasn't pitifully wounded by last night's offhand dismissal of their weeks together. He knew they weren't a couple. He knew that. But he was learning to enjoy that bastard's company and it would have been nice to hear a few reassuring words for once.

Landing softly on the stone floor, he realized they weren't alone this morning. On the sofa sat Kingsley Shacklebolt next to a much smaller woman that Harry recognized to be Narcissa Malfoy. They faced away from the entrance to the bedroom, speaking quietly with one another in grave tones. Leaning casually against the wall near the fireplace was Malfoy. He stared blankly down at McGonagall beside him, who was fortunately too engrossed in the conversation to notice Harry's entrance.

Skirting around the back wall, he approached the others as if emerging from his own room. "Minister Shacklebolt. Mrs. Malfoy," he greeted them. "What brings you to Hogwarts?"

Kingsley stood and shook his hand with a stern expression on his face. "Harry Potter, so good to see you." He led Harry to the far end of the room and lowered his voice as he continued. "I'm afraid there's been something of a mix-up. I had no idea that you and Draco had been kept here together for all these weeks, if this gets out there could be serious consequences."

"What consequences?" Harry asked, glancing quickly over to Malfoy, who was absently fiddling with the cuff of one of his sleeves and looking bored. "If what gets out, exactly?"

"Your statement is extremely valuable, obviously, but if there is any concern that you've been persuaded to alter your testimony in any way while you've been kept here, that would be grounds for mistrial. You must understand I don't believe that could possibly be the case, but there are others at the Ministry who do not share in my faith."

"Are you saying I won't be needed to testify on Monday?" Harry couldn't be sure if it was relief or disappointment twisting his stomach, but it was overwhelming. He felt slightly dizzy.

Kingsley shook his head, the gold hoop in his ear waving gently with the motion. "Unfortunately, it can't be that simple; we do still need you to appear in court. It's been agreed that it would be best for everyone if, as far as you two are concerned, your time in these rooms had never happened."

Harry wasn't sure he understood. As he was led back toward the sitting area, he watched McGonagall solemnly open the door to let the two guards in. Kingsley nodded and one of them seized Malfoy gruffly by the arm.

"Get off me!" he shouted, shattering the quiet of the morning as he struggled to free himself.

"Draco, sweetie, don't resist," Narcissa instructed nervously from her seat. "It's alright."

"Potter, what have you said?" Malfoy bellowed. "What did you do?" He was dragged out of the room as quickly as the guard shoving him along had entered, his mother trailing behind.

"Where are you taking him?" Harry demanded.

The second guard was suddenly upon him, securing his arms and preventing him from running after the others as if all of this had been planned to the slightest detail. He could hear Malfoy shouting his name, among other profanities, in the corridor.

"He'll be safe," the Minister reassured him, slowly raising his wand. "You have my sincerest apologies, Harry. You have to understand that I wish none of this was necessary."

Blind panic set in and Harry strained to release his arms from the iron grip holding them. He could still hear Malfoy's angry shouts growing faint beyond the door. McGonagall stood rigidly next to it, staring impotently at the Minister of Magic.

As Kingsley's wand was raised to his face, Harry struggled desperately to focus on what he'd learned over the past few weeks. He visualized a brick wall, an invisible shield surrounding him, anything at all forming a barrier between him and everyone else in the room, but the shouts in the corridor filled his head and distracted him completely. He thought of the painful conversation just a few hours earlier; the feeling of raw, bitten lips pressed against his; the solid weight of Draco's spent body on top of his own night after night. He didn't want to let it go, any of it, until he was certain what it all meant.

Harry struggled to protect himself as the memory charm exploded soundlessly from Kingsley's wand. As it flashed toward him, Harry had the distinct impression that the floor had dropped out from under his feet as he stood firmly in place. There was a terrible sensation of inexplicable isolation and loss. Fuzzy memories of cool hands and too much wine, a pale, featureless face and a muffled voice burst into relief and fizzled instantly into darkness.

"How do you feel?" a deep voice asked him from far away.

"Fine," he replied. "Why?"


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: This is absolutely not the end of the story._  
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Harry pulled a fresh set of robes from the moldy-smelling drawer and threw them on, stretching out his stiff back as he stared into the mirror. The face looking back at him was pale and tired looking. How he'd survived so long sleeping in that dusty, sagging bed was a mystery. His skin itched terribly everywhere it had come into contact with the grimy old sheets and his clothes stank of mothballs.

He sighed. As bad as the morning had been so far, he knew it was only going to get worse.

Walking out of the silent office space, he glanced back at the dark, empty room up the small set of stairs behind him. He wondered at the bizarre sense of loss twisting in his stomach, and supposed that it had been lonely here on his own for all this time. It probably would have been nice to have a roommate.

He joined Ginny, Ron and Hermione in the corridor and made his way out of the castle.

"It's so weird that this is actually happening," Hermione said as they passed through the gates. It was snowing again and their feet crunched softly with each step.

Ron nodded enthusiastically "I always knew he'd wind up in Azkaban. It's like an early Christmas present. I can't wait to see his face when they say he's guilty. It's going to be brilliant!"

"What I don't understand is why the rest of us don't get to testify," she complained. "There are plenty of people out there who might argue that he's innocent, even I had my doubts, and Harry isn't the only one of us who has something to say. I should have spoken to the prosecutor myself."

Ron laughed. "I'd rather just sit back and watch, it'll all turn out the same anyway. Guilty."

"I'm not so sure," Hermione pressed. "Gunda Humbert is the prosecution, and she's brilliant, but Imogene Wiley is defending him. I've heard she can get just about anyone acquitted."

"Stop worrying so much, Herm," Ron told her pleasantly. He threw his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.

Ginny was gripping Harry's hand and watching him intently as they walked. "Are you ok?" she asked quietly. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," he lied. Why was everyone always asking him that?

"Ginny," Hermione hissed. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Harry asked, squeezing the hand wrapped around his. It was a bit damp and warm, but it was also comforting and he didn't want it to drop away.

"Never mind, mate," Ron reassured him. "You just look, erm, tired."

When they arrived at the courtroom, they found it packed to capacity. They claimed the small row of seats that had been reserved for them and waited for everything to begin.

Harry was vaguely aware that the others were still discussing the trial, but he'd stopped listening long ago.

He scanned the crowd for familiar faces, finding Neville, Seamus, Dean and Luna seated in the second row. Their heads were bowed in toward each other as they spoke, obviously straining to hear one another over the incredible racket of the courtroom. In front of them sat Narcissa looking small and nervous. She leaned forward in her chair with a reassuring hand resting on the back of her son's shoulder as she spoke to him. Malfoy didn't seem to be listening to her, and Harry was surprised to find that his pale eyes were locked onto him as he nodded absently along to whatever she was saying. He looked exhausted and miserable with disheveled hair and ashen skin. As Harry stared back, an image of that pallid face glowing a healthy pink and transformed into a warm, genuine smile danced behind his eyes in a flash, too fast to focus on. Harry couldn't place the memory.

When Malfoy raised his shacked hands in a brief, awkward wave, Harry knew they would be cold. Always cold, even in a warm room. His stomach twisted again and he looked away.

As the morning wore on, things didn't appear to be going well for the defendant. Several eyewitnesses testified to seeing the Dark Mark branded on his arm, and even more spoke candidly about his involvement in Dumbledore's death. Luna spoke at length about her own incarceration in Malfoy Manner, and Neville condemned Draco's cooperation with the Carrow siblings at the beginning of their Seventh Year. Malfoy himself sat unmoving, slumped in his seat as if too bored, or too unwilling, to pay attention to his own criminal proceedings.

Harry was the last person called to the stand, and after hours of damning evidence he felt as if his statement would amount to nothing more than a drop in the ocean. He hoped this would go quickly.

Humbert questioned him first. She was a tiny woman with glowing blonde hair and large, innocent-looking brown eyes that made Harry feel almost as if a small child was addressing him.

"Mr. Potter," she began in a soft, albeit rather high-pitched voice. "It goes without saying that the entire wizarding world owes you an enormous debt of gratitude. Thank you for taking the time to help us all finish what you began."

Soft applause broke out in the room and Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Let's not beat about the bush today. Tell me, when did you first begin to suspect that Draco Malfoy was a fully initiated Death Eater?"

"In my sixth year at Hogwarts," he responded. His much deeper voice echoed strangely back to him.

"And this was the year that Mr. Malfoy attempted on a number of occasions to murder Albus Dumbledore? Rest his soul."

"Yes, that's correct."

Humbert clasped her hands solemnly. "Is it likely that Voldemort would have trusted any young student with such a monumental task, or is it more likely that he asked one of his own? Someone sworn to obey him?"

"That was all very complicated," Harry responded. He scratched uneasily at the dry skin on his chest. "But, yeah, that's what it all boils down, to I suppose."

Humbert smiled broadly, revealing a row of tiny, gleaming teeth and took her seat. "I don't want to keep you any longer than is necessary. We've heard more than enough today, and I believe that just about sums it up. It is clear beyond a doubt, I'm sure everyone would agree, that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. Thank you Mr. Potter."

Opposite the prosecution's bench, Wiley was whispering something to Malfoy. He glowered up at Harry, his mouth contorted into a weak sneer.

She stood suddenly and paced with a great deal of drama before Harry, her robes flicking noisily at each turn. Stopping suddenly to face the crowd, she spoke. "Others today have stated definitively that Draco Malfoy was branded with the Dark Mark during his sixth year at Hogwarts. Mr. Potter, can you confirm this?"

Harry shook his head. "Like I said, I suspected it. I heard the rumours."

Still addressing the crowd, she pressed on. "Did you believe these rumours at the time you heard them?"

"Yes, I did."

She seemed oddly encouraged and began her pacing anew. "Do you still believe this?"

"Yes, I do."

"And he's done nothing in all of the years you've known him to persuade you otherwise?"

Harry tried to ignore Malfoy's slate glare as he watched her flit past him. "I don't know... I do believe that he lied to Death Eaters at one point to save my life and the lives of my friends... But, no. Not really."

There was an unhappy rumbling in the crowd, but Wiley seemed to have been expecting this. "I see. Is it possible that he'd been a reluctant member, then?"

"Yes, that's possible."

"The event that you are referring to, would this be the evening that you were kidnapped by so-called Snatchers and taken to the childhood home of Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry cleared his throat, his stomach twisting painfully again. "Yes."

The pacing continued. "And it was at this point that he refused to cooperate with them, or lied to them as you put it?"

"Yes. Well, not lied. I shouldn't have said lied, but… He was asked to identify us. I'd been hit in the face with a Stinging Jinx, so I didn't look like myself. My friends did, though."

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?"

"Yes."

"People he should have easily been able to identify?"

"Yes."

"And what did Mr. Malfoy say when he was asked to do this?"

"I don't really remember. It was something like, 'Yeah, it might be them,' or something like that. He wasn't sure."

"But you believe that he was sure."

"Yes, I'm certain he recognized us." Harry felt suddenly lightheaded as he glanced down at Malfoy. He watched him moodily chewing at his lip, and the knowledge of the taste of that raw, broken flesh crystallized as clearly for Harry as the knowledge of the terrible itching of his own skin.

Paying no heed to Harry's distraction, Wiley continued. "That almost sounds like heroic deception to me."

Harry tried to focus. "No. Not... His life was in danger as well. He had to be careful. If he was wrong either way, he was risking death."

"Have you ever asked him about his motives?"

"No." He ignored the nagging sense that this was not true.

"Really? I would have been very curious. Why is it you've never asked?"

"We've never been close. We don't talk much."

"So it isn't likely that he was merely protecting his friends that day?"

Harry forced out a bizarre bark of laughter. "Absolutely not."

"I see. Why do you believe that someone such as Draco Malfoy, someone widely regarded by the majority of people here today as a known Death Eater, would betray his cause to protect the one person he was supposed to be delivering to Voldemort?"

Harry paused. He had to choose his next words very carefully. It was obvious that the right thing to do now would be to condemn Malfoy for every crime he'd committed, regardless of motive. The sea of faces around him stared down expectantly, like vultures circling an injured animal. Harry glanced over at the defendant, the slim blonde boy who had tormented and bullied him for years. The person he had hated since childhood. The man who, Harry was somehow certain, smelled of oak and mint and kissed too hard.

Quietly, he responded before he lost his nerve. "If he was a Death Eater, I don't think it was likely he joined willingly. He may have been forced into doing everything he did under threat of death… I believe, when he refused to give me up, he was doing what he thought was right. He risked everything." The words tasted like bile in Harry's mouth and he felt close to vomiting.

Wiley smiled darkly. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

His ears rang and his head swam as he was escorted from the courtroom by the two guards that had been with him every day for the past several weeks. He stared at his own feet as he retreated, fearing the looks of anger and shock on the faces of his friends. Ducking hollering reporters and flashing cameras, he all but ran out of the Ministry building. He didn't want to hear the verdict.

His own reluctance to condemn someone he knew to be guilty left him feeling ashamed and confused, and the journey back to Hogwarts was a blur of disjointed recollections and terrible nausea. He headed directly to the office space once he'd reached the castle, not wanting to face anyone and what would have likely been a long evening of angry questioning.

As he closed the heavy door, he was relieved to finally be alone. The room was dim and quiet, lit only by the fire crackling lonesomely nearby. He wondered at the memory of a tall figure standing a few feet from where he was now, taking something away from him. He remembered the figure hitting him with a spell that he'd tried desperately to block, and he remembered the confusion he'd felt afterward. What kind of spell had it been? It must have been a memory charm, but it couldn't have been an especially powerful one. He understood that he'd tried to protect himself from it, but he couldn't remember drawing his own wand. Somehow, he must have managed to dampen its effects. And still, visions of days past continued to play out vaguely behind his eyes like blurred photographs of a stranger's life.

A small dinner was waiting for him and he picked at it carefully as his stomach churned, sorting through the deluge of images. Harry knew now that he'd never been alone here. He knew that the blackened room up the small flight of stairs had recently been bright, and that he'd spent weeks sleeping there.

Giving up on his food, he climbed the dark stairs slowly and pushed the door back. He took a few steps forward and surveyed the very familiar space. On the floor by the bed was a set of his own robes lying wrinkled and abandoned. He took a deep breath and clearly recalled leaving them there. He knew that he had slept closest to the window because of a cold draft that only he could stand in the night. He knew that he'd liked it here. He'd been happy here.

He knew that it had to stop.


	7. Chapter 7

A cold hand on the back of his neck startled Harry out of his reverie.

"It seems I'm innocent," Malfoy said, stepping around him into the bedroom. "Or acquitted at least. Got my wand back and everything." He waggled it in Harry's face and grinned.

"That's good," Harry choked out. His mouth had suddenly gone very dry. He'd expected to be alone here from now on; he needed more time to figure all of this out. He wasn't ready to face the reality of what he'd remembered or the strength of the urge to touch the criminal he'd just helped to free. Logic told him that what they'd been doing here was very wrong, and every instinct he had screamed at him to bolt.

Malfoy gracefully seated himself on the edge of the bed. "You lied for me," he accused pleasantly. He patted the mattress next to him.

"Of course I didn't." Harry ignored the invitation and took a step back toward the stairs.

"You knew that I was a Death Eater, I tried to deliver you to the Dark Lord myself. Everyone knew. You sounded like a crazy person up there." His grin faltered slightly and he leaned forward, studying Harry's posture.

"I just answered her questions. That's all I did." Harry took another step back. "Why are you here?"

With a smirk, Malfoy sprung to his feet and closed the distance between them in a few swift strides. "So did they try to obliviate you, too?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He leaned in close, their noses nearly touching.

Harry stiffened his shoulders and leaned back. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy frowned, still looming close enough that his breath was warm on Harry's face. "I'm supposed to tell you that McGonagall has me moving in until my father's trial is over with, because I'm apparently still in danger of assassination by homeless-looking old men in crowded areas. You're supposed to be very upset about this news."

"Right, ok."

Harry attempted to turn and leave, he was just a few feet from freedom, but that cold hand was on his neck again. He pushed back against it as Malfoy's lips brushed against his. He turned his face, just barely deflecting the attempted kiss to his jaw.

"What are you doing?" he asked, forcing a tone of anger and disgust that felt like betrayal.

"Just stop it." Malfoy snapped. That healthy shade of pink Harry had recalled in the courtroom was rising in his cheeks. "I saw the way you were looking at me at the trial. All heartbroken and confused. Everyone else just thinks that's your usual face after all these years, but I know better. And if you're wondering if I they managed to obliviate me – no. I did very well. When Shacklebolt tried it, I parried the spell right back into his stupid face and he just sent me along my way like nothing happened. He probably didn't even know what day it was."

"I should probably get to bed," Harry muttered, twisting his head feebly against the hand holding it steady. He managed to move back a single pace only to slam his shoulder into the doorframe. If he was to quickly twist to the left, he could be down the steps and into the safety of his own room in a heartbeat.

He froze.

"You haven't been sleeping in that hole over there, have you? I spent the weekend in a dungeon and I had nicer accommodations."

"That's my room. Where else would I be sleeping?"

"In here! With me! Like you always have!" Malfoy was shouting now, and Harry recalled that this had been a frequent occurrence. "You can't expect me to believe you don't remember. Why are you even standing here, then?"

"Some of my clothes are in here… I don't know. I can't really… it's all confusing."

"I'm not in the mood for games, Potter!"

"Yeah, course. I'll just go."

Malfoy's hands were on him again, twisting into the collar of Harry's shirt as he stepped forward to block his escape. "Stop bullshitting me," he hissed, his abused lips scraping against Harry's once more. With the brutal, furious kiss that followed, Harry tasted the familiar rawness that he knew to expect. His entire body tensed and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he resisted the urge to kiss back. When he was finally released, he found himself frustratingly still rooted to the floor.

"I do not believe that you don't remember," Malfoy stated matter-of-factly.

A shrug was the best Harry could muster.

"Well let me fill you in, then. We were moved in here in October because some crazy old man tried to kill one of us. You promptly fell in love with me, and I'm beginning to like you too. You helped me learn to block spells every night because they took my wand away, which is why I'm not standing here looking sad and confused and pathetic like you."

In a whisper he continued, loosening his grip and unbuttoning Harry's shirt as he spoke. "And every night - every _single_ night, Potter - we've fucked. In this room. On that bed."

The obscenity of his words hung thickly in the air.

"Just back off. I don't know what you're talking about." Harry pivoted awkwardly onto the stairs, stumbling slightly, and fled to safety, the sound of Malfoy's livid invectives muffled by the ancient door.

… … … …

"Wake up, Potter."

Harry groaned into the deflated pillow under his face.

"Wake up, you amnesiac piece of shit. It's breakfast time, and then we get to watch each other sit exams all bloody day."

"Don't call me a piece of shit."

"Then stop behaving exactly like one," Malfoy replied, violently dragging the blankets off of the bed. "You twat."

As far as Harry could tell, and aside from the unprecedented amount of name-calling, that day and the rest of the week passed similarly to those before the trial. He was second to wake each morning, and he did his best to ignore his roommate as completely as their forced companionship allowed. End of term exams afforded Harry several hours alone each day watching other people write and enjoying the relative solitude. No one could ask anything of him or shout indignant abuse if they were sitting an exam. It was a relief. And in the evenings, holed up in his room, he studied every lesson he'd fallen behind on throughout the bizarre term past.

If he could have found a way to spend some time alone with Ginny, things would have been perfect. He felt he owed her as much. But things were generally simple and boring, everything he'd been afraid of and now needed so badly. He'd even begun planning out tiny, dull details of his own future. He'd rented a flat in London through an agency, and he'd granted Ginny free reign to furnish it as she liked. While he was certain he'd be fine with a cot in an empty room over the holidays so long as it was his own, he felt as if he needed to make sure she was included in the process. That was probably how healthy, normal relationships worked, after all.

On the final day of the term, Harry was fulfilling a promise he'd as of yet been unable – or unwilling – to keep. He was going to attend a Quidditch match with Ginny and the others. It was simple, but hopefully enough to demonstrate to everyone that things were just as they should be.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about it entirely and was running extremely late, but he'd probably still be able to catch the end if he hurried. He'd make up some excuse, blame Malfoy or something, and everything would be fine. He could behave like a normal person, and he was going to prove it today.

Zipping up his coat, he opened the bedroom door a crack and peered out into the common area. It was still, aside from the fire, and silent. Faint light spilled out around the door at the top of the stairs, hopefully indicating that his roommate was within, packing for the holidays or sulking. Both were equally likely. As far as he could tell, he'd be able to slip out undetected. If he made it to the corridor, he was certain that he could make some excuse to get away from the guards for a few hours. They didn't seem especially bright, and he was confident that he could pull this off.

Slipping out silently, he ran for the exit. He'd nearly made it to freedom when he heard footsteps outside and the door swung in, nearly hitting him where he'd stopped.

Malfoy stepped gracefully into the room, smiling to himself as he surveyed Harry's winter apparel. "Look at you, all bundled up. Going somewhere without me, love?"

"No," Harry barked defensively.

"Just chilly, then?"

"I – Where were you?" Harry tried and failed to match Malfoy's composed tone.

He crossed his arms amusedly. "I had a meeting."

"No you didn't. What kind of meeting?"

"A private meeting."

"Well, why didn't I have to go?"

"Because it was private. And that hat looks terrible on you."

"No it doesn't," Harry said, quickly removing it.

"And now your hair looks terrible. Was it worth it?"

"I don't care," Harry sighed. "Can you just go and get your coat on and come with me? I'm supposed to be down at the Quidditch pitch with everyone and I'm really late. It'll be easier to get there if I don't have to trick the guards or something."

Malfoy still had that amused expression on his face. "No, I don't think so. I've got things to do."

"Just put your coat on! It's freezing out and you'll be hypothermic before we even get to the pitch if you don't."

"Why do you say that?" Malfoy asked, still looking tremendously entertained. He moved forward, stopping barely a foot away from where Harry stood. He was always doing that lately when they were together: standing too close, or sitting in a way that forced their legs to touch. He was forever just a breath away.

Harry grunted. He would have to be more careful to avoid making casual references to intimate knowledge of things like body temperature. "Look, I'm running out of time."

"I've got a few minutes. How about you warm me up a bit?" Smirking, Malfoy reached out and began straightening the wild mess of hair that the offending hat had left behind. "You've always been good at that."

"Stop it," Harry complained, shaking his head free of wandering fingers. "Stop saying things like that, it's weird."

"Yes, yes, you 'have no idea what I'm talking about' and all that," Malfoy recited, rolling his eyes.

Harry swallowed deeply, forcing down his pride as well the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. "Will you please just put on your coat and come with me? You owe me."

"No, no, let's be clear here. I did not ask you to go up on the stand and play make-believe that I'm a decent and moral person. That was all on you." He gently pushed Harry aside and moved toward the small stone staircase. "And I'm not just refusing to come with you to be difficult. I'm refusing to come with you because the match was over fifteen minutes ago, at least. I saw everyone coming in on my way back."

He disappeared into his room as someone began to bang angrily on the front door. Harry took a deep breath and greeted an extremely irritated looking Ginny.

Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest and snow was melting in her hair. "And where the hell were you?" she demanded.

"I was just… Malfoy was…"

"What, holding you hostage?" She pushed past him into the office. "And why is it that Ron told me I could just come over here and see you? I thought no one was allowed in, and he says he's been here!"

Harry shut the door gently and flung his coat onto the couch. "Yeah, I mean, I'm not sure what the rules are, but Ron came by a while ago. I guess we can have guests."

Ginny tapped her foot irritably. "What kind of boyfriend doesn't invite his girlfriend round to his _private room_ that he's had for months? You have me running to London to get your flat sorted out, and you're back here pretending like you're on total lock down."

"I'm sorry, I never thought. I've been busy with school and with the trials. I haven't had a lot of spare time… I thought you'd like decorating the flat."

"Yeah, it was a bloody dream come true." She tossed a pair of keys and a folded piece of parchment onto the floor. "I had an extra key made, you can keep it."

"Calm down, I said I was sorry. Take your key, I don't need a spare."

From the vivid red rising in her cheeks, this was not what she wanted to hear. "That's very sweet, Harry. How kind." She paused to pick up one of the keys and studied him thoughtfully. "You know, we've all been very patient with you this year. We all figured you had post-traumatic stress or something, so we just left you to do what you needed to do. But then you get Malfoy acquitted and run out of the courtroom without even a word to us. And now, I find out that you've basically been avoiding me for months. How am I supposed to feel about all of this? It's like you've lost your mind!"

Harry wondered if he'd once had a proper excuse thought up for this eventuality, before his memory was tampered with. He racked his brain for any way to get out of this conversation, to get her to leave or to at least stop tapping her foot like that. Dim memories of arguments in this room flickered in the back of his mind like old light bulbs clinging to life. He knew that when Malfoy had shouted at him, his heart had pounded and he'd had to struggle not to physically attack him. He remembered the adrenaline kicking in and the desperate need to fight him, to hurt him, to touch him. But here with Ginny, his heart beat calmly. He was clear headed and just slightly irritated at the intrusion. He just needed to say the right thing, and she'd leave and everything would be fine again.

He took a step forward, standing just slightly too close. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's been tough, adjusting. But I should have thought about how I was treating you." That sounded good.

She stared sadly up at him. "I hate sounding like this, but I need to know. Do you even still want to be with me? You have to tell me, because I'm beginning to feel like an idiot."

"Of course," he swallowed thickly and kissed her. "Things will be better when I'm back in Gryffindor, I promise."

The truth of his own words hit him hard. Things would absolutely change once he'd moved back into Gryffindor. Malfoy, looking pale and perfect and irritated in his doorway every morning, would no longer wake him with a few choice insults and stolen bedding. Harry wouldn't have to follow him around all day or struggle to ignore him every evening. They would never have to speak to one another or be alone together ever again. He knew it was for the best, but it the realization made him feel sick.

"Isn't that sweet?" A third voice came drawling down them. Malfoy was leaning casually in his doorway, and Harry wondered with a start if he'd heard everything they'd been saying. "Lucky for you two, that'll be very soon. Just my father's trial left, and then we're all free."

"Would you piss off?" Ginny snapped at him. "We're trying to have a private conversation here."

He skipped down the steps toward them and plucked the parchment and remaining key from the floor. "A thousand apologies."

"We'll talk over the holidays, ok?" Ginny said to Harry, looking dangerously aggravated. "I love you."

"Right," Harry replied as she left, slamming the door shut behind her as she went.

"Our last night in here," Malfoy said, looking around at the silent room. He was standing less than an arm's length away when Harry turned to face him. "I'll miss the quiet."

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, taking the second key as it was offered to him. "We should talk – "

"No."

"Pardon me?"

"No. I don't want to hear it again. You don't remember anything, fine, you don't have to keep telling me. It's our last night here and then we never have to even look at each other again. I get it."

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't have to be like that. I was just going to say, the address of my new flat should be written on that piece of parchment you stole. Visit me over Christmas, if you want. It's fine."

"Sure, and then we can be best friends and exchange thoughtful gifts." He rolled his eyes again and slipped a hand into one of his pockets, fiddling with the paper inside.

Harry hesitated, watching Malfoy shift his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His pale eyes appeared to be fixed on an empty stone tile and he chewed his lip like he always did. Harry reached out to straighten the already perfectly knotted green tie around his neck, eliciting a nearly imperceptible jump. "Yeah," he said. "We can be friends."


	8. Chapter 8

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_Author's notes:_

_1) Sorry about the delay, everybody_

_2) This should go without saying, but for the benefit of a small group of people, I'm adding this in: This is a story exploring Harry's adjustment to life after the world has become a safer place. He's used to danger, and in a peaceful world he's subconsciously sought it out any way he can. Moreover – this story focuses on his inability to adjust. He's not thinking especially rationally, and he's behaving more and more obsessively. He's not thinking about the major concerns that would trouble any of us because, to him right now, they don't matter._

_3) A slightly more adult chapter (just in case that's not your thing)_

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It was December 23rd and the courtroom was decorated merrily for the season with candles twinkling happily in wreaths and rich garlands lining each doorway. If it wasn't for the shouting mob breaking out into riot around him, Harry was certain this could have actually been a lovely room to spend an afternoon in.

Two rows ahead of him, Draco sat next to his mother with an arm curled stiffly over her shoulders. The crowd had burst furiously to life before the announcement of Lucius' acquittal had even been completed. They leapt to their feet at once, shouting angrily for a retrial, and some even for execution. The sound of their rage was deafening and Harry stood and nodded along, affecting an outraged demeanor as he stretched up to watch the Malfoy family's reaction.

Draco stood immediately to leave, and Harry could see that he had taken his mother by the elbow to help her to her feet. Narcissa's shoulders, usually straight and proud, were slumped and she appeared to be gripping at the back of her seat for support. Huge men in dark robes ushered them out to safety as she anxiously twisted her hands.

The guards who had dogged Harry's every step for months escorted him to this flat and took their leave without a word. With the trials complete, their work was done and he found himself completely alone at last.

His flat turned out to be small, cold and poorly decorated. An enormous violet couch sat bloated and hideous in the middle of the main room facing a small, drafty fireplace. It was very likely that Ginny had chosen this as a kind of punishment. The door to the bedroom was to his right, and the kitchen stood at the far end of the space. To most people this may have been a tremendously disappointing place to spend the holidays. Harry loved it.

In the bedroom he found a double bed and a large wardrobe, the top two drawers filled with Ginny's things. He also found three bottles of red wine and a short note from her expressing remorse and a general sense of affection that made him uncomfortable. Casting the sheet of parchment aside, he took one of the bottles to the kitchen and opened it.

He lit a fire and sat with an untouched glass for a long time, running over the courtroom scene again and again. Both Narcissa and Draco had seemed shocked and disappointed with the verdict. Harry supposed this had been somewhat expected after everything the family had been through, and the frustrated crowd screaming insults at their family could have been a surprise. Of course both of them must have harboured some kind of anger toward Lucius after everything he had put them through, but he had never expected to see Narcissa, usually cold as ice and precisely as unyielding, to fall victim to her own shock in public. From where Harry had been standing, she looked small and utterly frightened.

Harry took a deep sip of his wine and stared intently at the flames, trying to clear his mind. None of this was any of his concern. The Malfoys were none of his concern. He needed to focus on his own future - finishing his year at Hogwarts and building a life with Ginny. This was what he had been struggling for all of these years after all. He tried to imagine her laughing, her hair gleaming like copper fire in the sun as her face broke out into a beautiful smile. That was what he'd been working for. That was what he surely needed. A simple life with a woman who loved him. But in his mind's eye, her colours drained away; the red of her hair faded to white and her warm eyes turned to steel.

The wine tasted bitter in his mouth and he felt suddenly miserable. Knowing there was no one brooding after him in the other room left him feeling lonely and strangely angry. He knew that when he woke in the morning, he would be alone with no one dragging the covers off of him and glaring down with hurt, pale eyes. As much as it felt shameful, he knew that he'd rather spend the holidays being shouted at and insulted by him than loved by her.

He finished his glass and poured himself another.

Falling into a habitual brooding state, he ignored what sounded like a quiet rapping at his front door. He swallowed the wine in three quick gulps and poured himself one more. This would be his last for the night, he promised himself as he downed the entire glass. He would just get drunk enough to fall asleep. He stretched out on the couch and allowed himself to drift off.

The fire was low when the knocking returned, startling him awake. It took him a moment to remember where he was as he shuffled to the door, opening it just a crack. Snow was falling heavily outside and the willowy, hooded figure in the doorway was coated in a heavy layer of it. Harry stepped aside and let him in. He removed the sodden cloak and hung it on the crooked coat rack nearby. He'd known he'd turn up eventually, but he'd expected it to take a few days.

Aside from the violent shivering, Draco stood perfectly still. He stared at a stain on the ceiling and gnawed viciously on his lower lip.

"Hello, Malfoy. Want a glass of wine?" Harry asked casually. He was tremendously pleased with the visit, but it seemed vital not to let on how he felt.

Draco took a moment to react and then shook his head slowly. He moved in as he always did, standing just a breath away for a second or two before continuing on to collapse into the massive couch cushions. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands without a word.

Harry studied him for a moment before speaking. "I can get you a blanket - "

"Shut up." His words came as a low growl. "Where were you three hours ago?"

"Here. I heard knocking, but I wanted to be on my own."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, nodding angrily as he sat up to stare wild-eyed at Harry. "I needed to see you!" he snapped. "I needed your help!"

"What's happened?" he found that he no longer felt surprise when being shouted at like this.

"Doesn't matter," Draco muttered, as if to himself.

Harry sat down next to him and placed an awkward hand on his shoulder. He was still shaking slightly and his clothes were soaked through with icy water. Fragmented images burst to life at the back of Harry's mind like a flash of lightning at the touch and he remembered the feel of deep scars beneath his tongue and the sound of heavy breath.

Heart suddenly pounding, he jerked his hand away. "Then why did you come here? Twice?"

"Doesn't matter." Draco stared into the dying flames. "Not anymore."

This was irritating, Harry was in no mood for the dramatic. He wanted Draco to face him, to feel his cold, slate eyes boring into his, hatefully if necessary. "Bullshit. You would be back at home with your family if that were true. Why are you here? What did you do?"

Draco didn't answer. His eyes remained focused on the fireplace, his jaw grinding as he gnawed on his lip. It looked painfully raw, almost bloody in places. Harry knew that he only chewed at it when nervous or uncomfortable, and the level of visible damage was clear proof that he'd spent the day in abject misery.

"What did you do?" he pressed.

When Draco turned to face him, his eyes were bloodshot and ringed with purple. His skin was ashen and there was a long scratch on his jaw intersecting another old scar Harry had put there so long ago. Silently he reached out, wrapping his arms around Harry's torso and snaking his frostbitten hands up under his shirt. He kissed him hard, his injured lips raking across Harry's as he squeezed him closer.

Harry pulled back. "Malfoy – "

"Don't say it again. I've already told you once… Don't say you don't remember." His voice was still low, but unsteady.

A twisting sensation in the pit of Harry's stomach told him that this was not the Draco he'd been living with for the past few months. He let himself be kissed again, and knew that it didn't matter right now. He kissed back, ignoring another barrage of cloudy memories demanding his attention and focusing on the cold body pressing him backward onto the cushions.

His shirt was dragged up over his head and he ripped at the buttons blocking access to the chest above him. He felt abused lips travel down to his neck and hands exploring his body in a way that was surreal and yet so familiar, like something impossible from a dream. His belt was unbuckled for him and he waited, filled with a nervous excitement and completely unsure of what should come next. He knew they had done this countless times, but he had no clear memory of the details. Was this right? Was this how it should be happening? He could hear Draco whispering something, but he lost focus as a hand brushed along the length of him.

He groaned, lost in the sensation and forgetting his concern for anyone's wellbeing but his own. He suddenly no longer cared what had brought Draco here tonight, or why he seemed so distraught. In the dimness of the living room, there was nothing but the feeling of the fingers teasing him and teeth raking along his collarbones. When it finally happened, when the first thrust came, his mind went mercifully blank and he let himself become immersed in the moment.

The dying fire cast a warm glow over Draco's pallid, sharp features and threw dark shadows across the hollows of his cheeks. Digging his fingers into Harry's jaw, he tilted his head up so that their eyes met as his pace quickened. There was no more kissing. There were no words. Breathing together, Harry moved his hips to match the rhythm as Draco dropped his forehead down onto his. It lasted only a few minutes; each groan louder than the last, each movement more desperate, more blissfully violent, until Draco finally collapsed onto Harry's chest.

Exhausted and spent, they walked to the bedroom together in silence. Under the covers, Harry wrapped his warm arm around the cool body pressed against his.

"What did you do, Draco?" he whispered.

"Don't call me that."

… … … …

Walking through the front door of the Burrow, it still felt like coming home. The rooms were oppressively warm and each was filled with people. With mountains of food and a never-ending succession of games, the Christmas Eve sped cheerfully by. That night, sitting in the kitchen, Harry clutched a scalding cup of tea and chatted happily with Arthur who was flicking absently through a newspaper. Ron was across from him, fiddling with a small box that had been troubling him terribly all day.

Despite the swirling chaos of a Weasley Christmas, Harry found himself perfectly content once he'd arrived. He'd decided to forget the twisted mess he'd made of his personal life while he was there and it was easy to convince himself that everything was alright in a place like this.

He hadn't been surprised to wake up alone that morning, but it was disappointing. The apartment was cold, he had no food, and so he'd packed quickly. It felt supremely important at the time to get out of there. If he was to linger, he would've only wound up obsessing over what had happened like he always did, and today wasn't the day for that kind of thing.

A decision needed to be made, that much was clear. He couldn't go on doing this to Ginny, and whatever kind of relationship he had with Draco was exciting, but it was also toxic and likely doomed. As much as it made him feel sick, he needed to choose. But it was Christmas, so he didn't have to choose today.

Ron opened the box and peered inside, his eyes growing wide as he took a deep breath.

Molly was at the sink, checking over the dishes and getting organized for lunch the next day. Opening up two dusty bottles of the same bitter wine Ginny had left at the flat, she sighed. "Ron, sweetie, you're so young. There really is no rush."

"She deserves a family, mum," he protested, still staring at the tiny box. "One that properly remembers her, at least."

"Yes, but aren't we already her family? I'm just saying, you can put it off for a year or so."

"Tonight's the night, mum." He snapped the box shut and stowed it in a pocket.

"I suppose your father and I were about the same age as you two." She smiled and kissed the top of her son's head. "When did you all get so grown up?"

"Harry and Ginny are next," Ron said. "Eh, mate?"

Harry cleared his throat and forced an awkward smile.

"Lucius Malfoy has gone missing," Arthur piped up from behind the paper, miraculously changing the awkward subject. When no one commented, he continued. "There's speculation that he was hunted down by some of the angry mob at the courtroom. People are worried that the others who were acquitted might be next to go."

"Here's hoping," Ron laughed, getting to his feet. "It's about time we called the girls down, I suppose."

Harry's stomach twisted violently and his ears rang as he stood to follow the others. The entire household crowded into the living room, each of them jostling for a better view. Harry stood still at the centre of it, his head swimming with concern and the intense heat of the house. When Ginny came thundering down the stairs and bounding toward him, he instinctively braced for impact and forced himself to focus on the happy moment unfolding before him.

He tried not to think of where Draco might be hiding out now if he was, indeed, on the run. It was terribly cold out.

When Hermione entered the room and immediately began to cry as Ron knelt down on one knee, Harry concentrated on his friend's heartwarming speech rather than who had taken - or likely killed - Lucius, and whether Draco had seen it happen. It was obvious now how terrified he'd been last night. Was that goodbye?

When Hermione said 'yes' and everyone cheered, Harry clapped along and smiled, glancing just once out the window into the frigid night. He congratulated his best friends and silently reassured himself:

Draco could take care of himself…

Draco was fine…

Draco was still alive...


End file.
